


Awoken

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 25,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suffering from a fatal wound, Hawke finds himself coming back to consciousness in the body of the Hero of Ferelden, now Warden-Commander of the Grey and Arl of Amaranthine. With no idea how he got there or how long he might be stuck, Hawke now has to make sure he doesn't inadvertently change the future.</p><p>Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangrywarlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/gifts).



> I'd been dragging my feet on a prompt given to me by my girlfriend mostly because I'd only played Awakening once. I played it again most of the way through for this story, and she's pleased with it. So I thought I'd share. Enjoy! ^_^

"Hold on Hawke, just hold on!"

Hawke couldn't even feel the pain anymore. The high dragon was dead, he could see its smoldering corpse if he turned his head. Above him, Anders was pouring his healing magic into Hawke's broken and battered chest. He was covered in blood up to the elbow.

"Anders, he's dying."

He heard Varric's words, but they barely registered. Dying? How was he dying? He was the hero of the story. Heroes never died. Or if they did, it happened at the very end. This couldn't be the end, could it? Varric wouldn't let his tale go out with, 'And lo, the brave Hawke did perish at the claws of the mighty dragon.'

Tears filled the amber eyes and Hawke tried to lift a hand to wipe them away. He hated it when Anders cried, and tried to tell him to stop. Coppery blood filled his mouth and he couldn't breathe.

"NO! Maker, please, no, don't be dead, please!"

_I'm not,_ is what Hawke wanted to say. _I'm alive, I'm right here._

There was no bright light, no memory flashes. Hawke slowly closed his eyes, listening to Anders beg and plead, felt the warmth in his chest as his lover tried again and again to bring him back to life. It felt like falling asleep for a moment, like when you're too tired to keep your eyes open but you try to for just five more minutes.

"Oh! There he is, isn't he?"

"Commander!"

_Commander?_

He opened his eyes, head swimming, dizzy, and slightly nauseous. Another warm burst of healing energy flowed through him, making his skin tingle and his heart race.

"Anders."

"I didn't think I was that popular, but considering we were in the Circle together, maybe he remembers me. Either way, that dead faint was impressive. Nice to know I still have it in me."

"This is not the time for jokes!"

Hawke opened his eyes slowly. Leaning over him was a woman in plate armor wearing a winged helmet. The only female warrior he knew was Aveline, and this most definitely was not her. He groaned and sound reverberated in his head, shooting pain, migraine-like rattling his brain.

"Oh, let me fix you right up."

That voice. It was familiar, but different. A hand came down on his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and the magic that flowed through his sinuses, to his temples was very welcome.

"Anders," he said again, but the voice wasn't his own. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Anders." Less shaky, but still the same.

"That's my name, don't wear it out. Actually it's not really my name but no one could pronounce my name so instead of 'that weird Anderfels kid' I insisted that everyone just call me Anders and it stuck. So I suppose that's my name for now, but if any templars come by, you can tell them that I'm Frederick."

"Honestly," said the woman, helping Hawke to sit. "It's no wonder the templars didn't gag you for all the talking that you do. Commander, are you okay?"

Hawke looked down at himself. Not his body. Smaller in frame, knuckles free from scars. And he was wearing robes, actual robes. The last set he'd worn had belonged to his father, the wine-red, thick cotton ones his mother had made for Malcolm but he never had a chance to wear. He pressed his fingertips to his temples and shook his head a little.

"I'm not…" He trailed off.

_This isn't a dream. I'm not dead. I was dying, I was supposed to be dead. But there's no dragon._

He quickly took stock of the room. The house – barracks? – was made of wood. That in itself was odd. Kirkwall was carved from a quarry, everything was stone. A few feet away, a pile of smoldering bodies, darkspawn and men in templar uniforms, though not the bright red Kirkwall colors he was used to. These were more muted, and he had a sudden, sickening jolt of remembrance.

_Ferelden. Fereldan templars wore that shade._

"Are we in Ferelden?"

The woman sighed, shaking her head. "He's had quite a bad tumble."

"I could correct that problem. I'm told I give quite good tumbles."

And that… that was Anders. But it wasn't. He looked different. He was clean shaven, the perpetual stubble gone. His hair was longer and tied back fully and there was a golden earring in his right ear. He remembered the hole left behind, remembered nipping that lobe, asking about it.

_"It didn't feel right after I left the Wardens, so I got rid of it."_

Anders didn't want to talk about it again after that, and Hawke had let the subject drop.

"Are you okay to stand, Commander? The keep is crawling with darkspawn. We have to save the survivors and figure out what happened. And… there's the apostate."

"Oh. Oh no," Anders said. "We can forget about the apostate, can't we?" he asked, flashing a charming smile. "After all, he wasn't hurting anyone. Except the darkspawn. But to be fair, they attacked first. I could be useful to you, help you with your little problem and then you could… pretend you never saw me!"

The woman frowned, looping her arm under Hawke's and pulling him to his feet. Hawke brushed himself off, still trying to figure out what was happening. One moment he was dying, and the next he was here. And that was definitely Anders. Though his lover didn't smile as often now, it seemed he had at one point – quite a lot, in fact. And it was definitely the same smile. His magic also felt the same, but lighter in a way. And suddenly Hawke understood.

This was Anders before Justice.

This was Anders before Kirkwall. Before the mage underground.

The thought nearly made him pass out again and if not for the woman's hand at his elbow, he would've fallen.

"I'm… fine, thank you," he said finally. He would have to get used to his own voice. It was lighter, airier. And the height difference was bothersome. His own body was nearly eye to eye with Anders, perhaps just an inch or two shorter. Whoever this 'Commander' was, he was at least half a head down. "My staff?"

Anders toed it from the ground, hiking it up easily and giving it twirl before handing it to him. "First Enchanter taught me that one." He winked. "Ah, not really. So. You're a mage, I'm a mage. That makes us best friends, right? So I can go?"

"Commander," the woman hissed. "This man could be dangerous."

"He's not." Hawke said it before he could stop himself. "Not to us," he added. "He's a mage. And I'm also a mage," he repeated Anders' sentiments. Apparently 'Commander' was not short for 'Knight-Commander' at the very least. Commander of the Guard of whatever city they were in? Somewhat unlikely, since he was a mage. That only left…

There was a prickling in his mind, something itching at the corners of his brain. Instantly he knew without knowing what it was.

"Darkspawn."

The warrior drew her sword.

Hawke looked to Anders. "We could use a healer."

"Then I am at your service," Anders said with a grin, spinning his own staff. "Shall we show them why mages are feared?"

Hawke felt the tugging at the corners of his mouth. Confused though he was, he would fight now and figure things out later.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wow, a dwarf that smells like a brewery. You never see that anywhere!"

Hawke wasn't able to keep the snort of laughter from escaping, even with Mhairi – she finally introduced herself to Anders – gave him a look. It was true, he had to admit. The dwarf Oghren embodied every stereotype Hawke had ever heard when it came to dwarves. He was nothing like Varric or Bartrand with their cunning natures, and a far cry from Bodahn and Sandal and their gentleness. Oghren was a walking, talking, belching, bearded stereotype. Hawke wasn't sure if he liked him or not. Oghren seemed somewhat indifferent, but familiar with him. But he was another body between himself, Anders, and the darkspawn, so he was happy to have him around for now. 

Hawke had fought darkspawn before, and he'd fought with Anders before. He seemed a bit more impulsive, a lot more carefree, but essentially his style was still the same. Hawke found it refreshing in the middle of all his confusion. Mhairi was a fierce and capable warrior. Even when they came across a dying man she'd obviously been close to, she held herself together. Hawke admired her spirit. It was easy just to keep fighting, not to worry about why he was here.

"That's Seneschal Varel!" Mhairi hissed, pulling Hawke back as they turned the corner of the ramparts.

They watched as the darkspawn turned around and… and…

"It _is_ talking!" Anders exclaimed.

Unfortunately that drew the attention of the talking darkspawn toward them. Huge, flanked by two others, it dropped Varel to the ground. Oghren charged forward before it had a chance to react, and Mhairi quickly joined the fray. In retrospect, Hawke decided they might have wanted the thing to live, if only to get answers.

"You're going to be just fine. Varel, is it?"

Hawke, who was helping Mhairi to her feet, turned to see Anders kneeling, pressing his hands against a wound in Varel's side. Varel's expression was pained, fists clenched. But Anders was extremely skilled, and his conversation appeared to keep the seneschal focused.

"You know, not many people could take a hit like you did at your age and keep on going."

Hawke smiled despite himself, kneeling down across from Anders. "Do you need anything?"

Anders shook his head. "He'll be right as rain now. Won't you, Varel?"

The wound was closed, and despite the amount of blood on Varel's armor and now over Anders' robes, Varel was sitting up with only a bit of support.

"I thank you, ser mage," Varel said, coughing.

Anders wrinkled his nose in distaste. It was a familiar expression, something that Hawke had always found so endearing.

"Call me Anders."

Mhairi pulled Varel to his feet, leaving Hawke kneeling, looking at Anders who was wiping blood from his hands. Anders paused, glanced at him, and offered a cheeky grin before he stood. Hawke got belatedly to his feet.

"It is good to see you, Commander. I only wish you'd gotten here a bit sooner. We could've used the Hero of Ferelden when the darkspawn descended on the Vigil."

_The Hero of-_

_Oh._

_Oh Maker, no._

Suddenly it clicked. Commander as in Warden-Commander as in he could hear darkspawn in his head and he was a free mage that no one seemed eager to turn into the templars any time soon. And why would they? He'd killed an archdemon. Well, not him. The Warden. The Hero of Ferelden. Hawke had been out of the country when it all happened, but there wasn't a single corner of Thedas that hadn't heard the story in one form or another. Mothers would be telling it to their children for centuries. Three Grey Wardens. An Orlesian who sadly died, himself now apparently a man in a position of command, and –

"There are soldiers on the road," Varel noted. "Let's hope they're friendly."

He leaned only slightly on Mhairi as they headed down the steps, into the courtyard. The entourage that passed under the gates was headed by none other than King Alistair himself. Hawke had only just met the king briefly in the viscount's keep just two weeks prior. They had a short but interesting conversation about Ferelden and Meredith and mages in particular. He seemed rather fond of them. That, Hawke thought, was apparent when Alistair shook his hand enthusiastically before sweeping him into a hug.

"Good to see you in one piece, my friend! When we saw the fires, we feared the worst!"

"King Alistair!" Mhairi gasped, kneeling.

Varel bowed low. Oghren merely grunted, and Anders shifted, moving a bit behind Varel. Hawke saw Alistair's cheeks turn slightly pink as he ordered Mhairi to stand. Clearly the man wasn't comfortable with this kind of adulation.

"I'd wanted to come and give the Wardens a formal welcome. I certainly wasn't expecting this. What's the situation?"

Hawke listened to Varel debrief Alistair, but his eyes were on Anders. He looked like he was going to bolt at any second. And for good reason. The templars flanking Alistair had moved back to whisper to one another, and one of them was casting looks in his direction.

"I'd love to stay and help you kill darkspawn but I'm afraid you're on your own for a bit, my friend," Alistair said sadly.

"What am I, chopped nug livers?" Oghren growled out.

Hawke couldn't get a word in edgewise with these people, but he supposed it was for the best. Anders, it seemed, for all his wanting to stay out of it, couldn't resist a snappy comeback.

"From the smell, that's not a bad guess."

He felt the headache starting to manifest behind his eyes as Oghren spoke and Maker did he always sound like he was gargling stones? Then he realized people were looking to him. He'd missed the thread of the conversation.

"Uh. Of course."

"I suppose… all are welcome in this dire time," Mhairi said, shooting him a glare.

Oghren however, seemed overjoyed. Suddenly the templar to Alistair's right spoke up.

"King Alistair, Your Majesty, beware, this man is a dangerous criminal!"

"Oh the dwarf is a bit of an arse, but I wouldn't go that-"

"She means me," Anders said, sounding defeated. "Hello, Ser Rylock."

Hawke frowned, a spiral of contempt quickly unfurling in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to set Rylock on fire. He'd heard the name from Anders before, the woman who'd been assigned to bring him back to the Circle on more than one occasion. And she wasn't exactly gentle about her methods. At least here in the presence of the king she didn't seem ready to silence and smite Anders on recognition.

"This is an apostate who we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice."

"The things you people know about justice could fill a thimble," Anders spat back.

Hawke saw a flash of Anders - _his_ Anders – in that vitriolic remark. He couldn't stay silent any longer. "You're not taking him," he said, stepping forward.

Rylock glared at him. "With all due respect, Warden-Commander-"

"I'm a mage as well. Do you mean to haul me to the Circle?"

"W-well no," she said, glancing to Alistair, who merely seemed amused. "I only mean, you're the Hero of Ferelden, you… the king has pardoned-"

"Being a mage isn't a crime," Hawke said, arms crossing over his chest. "Anders is an important person."

"I am?" Anders asked, confused. "I mean, sure. I am. Definitely important." He leaned forward, lips close to Hawke's ear. "Why am I important again?"

Hawke shivered, knowing all too well what those lips were capable of. "Just follow my lead," he whispered back through clenched teeth.

"Right."

"He's escaped his escort. He's a murderer! I will see him hanged for this!" Rylock's cheeks were tinged pink in anger.

"Murderer?" Anders shot back. "Those templars were killed by dark-" He cut off with a defeated sigh. "What's the use? It's not like you'll believe me anyhow."

Alistair shook his head a little, looking to Hawke. "It seems we're at an impasse, unless you have something to add, _Commander_ ," he said, stressing the word.

Commander. That's right. The Wardens could force anyone to join them. Hawke had slept next to Anders, had comforted him following nightmares of darkspawn and broodmothers. He'd also seen what Corypheus's call did to him. But it was either that or let Rylock take him. And while Anders might escape the Circle again, Hawke wasn't sure what damage he would do by changing history. That and there would be no way he could live with the guilt of sending his lover back to the Circle, back to the place he despised.

"I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription," Hawke said, hoping those were the right words. "Anders will become a Grey Warden."

"What?!" Rylock shouted. "Never!"

Alistair looked at her with a thinly veiled expression of irritation. He seemed a patient man, but he was no king to be trifled with. "I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the Right of Conscription, no?" he asked, and when Rylock sputtered, his jaw twitched. "I will allow it." His tone left nothing to be argued. It was a statement clear and simple: I am your king, you will obey.

Hawke thought he might have misjudged Alistair. He was a bit odd, had seemed naïve, but it was clear he hadn't been put on the throne just to fill a seat. Rylock was properly cowed.

"If… if your Majesty feels it is best…"

She inclined her head and turned away, but not before glaring at Anders. Hawke smirked, proud of himself.

"Ha!" Oghren barked. "Way to go, kid! Welcome aboard!"

Anders, who'd been quiet until then, tilted his head thoughtfully. "Me? A Grey Warden? I guess that will work…"

And as King Alistair said his goodbyes, Hawke only hoped he'd made the right decision.


	3. Chapter 3

The Joining was intensely disturbing to Hawke. He'd seen many horrible things, especially in the last few years. The trip to the Deep Roads, nearly losing Carver, Quentin's necromancy and blood magic. There was something that was just _wrong_ about drinking the blood of the darkspawn and it made him nauseous to watch. Luckily the Warden-Commander's body was made of stronger stuff than Hawke had originally given the man credit for, and his own weak-at-the-knees instinct was tamped down upon. Until Anders crumpled to the floor.

"Anders!"

He was aware of Varel watching him, of Oghren's raised eyebrow, but Hawke didn't care how odd it looked, the Warden-Commander with his arm around a new recruit, helping him to sit up.

"Maker, no wonder they keep this part a secret," Anders said, palm pressed to his forehead. He flashed a smile at Hawke. "I'm all right, Commander, really. Not exactly a delicate flower here."

Mhairi was not so fortunate. 

The few servants and soldiers had cleared the Vigil, untying the bodies that the darkspawn had strung up, and there was a terse but brief argument of whether they should be buried or burned. Darkspawn corpses were piled onto a cart and brought out of the keep before being set aflame. Tradition and custom demanded burial for the men though. The Vigil had herself a large cemetery, and the rest of the evening was spent digging graves.

"Did you need anything else, Commander?" Varel asked as they walked back up the wooden steps to the keep.

"A bath," Hawke said. Every muscle was aching and sore and he stank of sweat and blood. Not the best way to start his first day as Warden-Commander, he thought.

"I'll have one drawn for you, ser."

"Where… where are my quarters?"

"Oh, my apologies. That's right. You haven't been given a tour yet. The Commander's quarters are in the barracks, though you have free reign of the Vigil. If you wish to move your room, just say so and I'll have one of the servants transfer your things."

"That's fine." Hawke had slept in and on worse things, most of which didn't include a roof and four walls. Though he'd been pampered the last few years with his estate, downgrading wouldn't be a problem.

Varel gave him directions and Hawke found his quarters extremely spacious. The room opened into a study with a desk that was already creaking with paperwork. He ignored it for now and opened the door to another large space containing a four-poster bed, heavy oak dresser and a metal tub with a pump. And elven woman was filling it, and she turned when he came in.

"Commander!"

Hawke winced when she curtsied. He was reminded heavily of Orana. "I can finish that," he said. "It's okay. Go have your supper if you haven't yet."

She looked surprised but pleased, thanking him as she left. Hawke unhooked the light leather pauldrons, dropping the weight from his shoulders. He stripped the robes, easily pulling them over his head and let them fall to the floor, and looked down at his smallclothes.

"Well, these are ridiculous," he noted, the thin white material held up by a small leather strap.

"I don't know," said a voice from behind him. "I think they're rather fetching."

Hawke startled, turning around to see Anders leaning in the doorway, and felt himself blush when he winked. The implications of Anders being in his quarters so late were not lost on Hawke. But it was clear these two men had just met. It wouldn't do to jump him right then and there, even if Anders might have been willing. So Hawke continued to fill the tub, keeping his back to Anders and prayed to Andraste that his perverted mind wouldn't cause him to get an erection. That would be all he needed.

"Did you need something, Anders?" he asked, trying to keep his tone even.

"I wanted to thank you for invoking the Right."

_Thank me? I've doomed you to a life of Deep Roads and darkspawn and worse._

"Oh," he said. 

The tub was full. He could order Anders out or he could man up and take his bath with Anders watching. He wondered if this was normal for men in a barracks, and then wondered further if Carver had to go through this when he was drafted to join Cailan's army. He slid the bits of material from his hips and stepped in, sinking down before turning back to Anders.

"I barely remember you from the Circle. Amell, right?"

_Amell? My mother's family?_

Hawke briefly remembered his mother talking about her being disowned for marrying Malcolm. Bringing more magic into a line that already produced mages. He'd never thought the Hero of Ferelden was his relation, though. It just wasn't something that ever crossed his mind.

"Yes," he said.

"We must've missed each other in classes. How old are you?"

Hawke had no idea how old the Hero of Ferelden was. He definitely wasn't a teenager, but he hardly felt as old as himself. "Twenty-one," he guessed.

"Ah, that's why. And here I am, watching you bathe like a lecherous old man."

"I don't mind," Hawke said at once, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"Hm." Anders looked down, the light of the fire glinting off his earring. "Still. You know I was in solitary when they conscripted you. It was a big deal. Grey Wardens coming to the Circle to find willing recruits. I'd only heard about everything later when… when the templars finally caught up."

Hawke heard the sadness in his voice, the defeat. "Being a Warden is better than being in the Circle. I promise you."

"You think so?" Anders asked, looking up at him hopefully. "Well, you would know I suppose. Slayer of archdemons and all that. What was it like?"

Hawke had no idea, but Anders seemed eager to listen, and Hawke wasn't about to kick him out. "Terrifying," he admitted. "But satisfying."

Anders laughed. "I like that answer. You don't hide anything. I'm not sure the world is ready for that kind of honesty though." It was an easy tone of sarcasm.

"What was it like for you? In the Circle," Hawke asked before he could stop himself. Anders never liked talking about Kinloch Hold beyond a few snippets of conversation. He mentioned templars there in the same breath as Kirkwall templars. Other than Karl and the tower's mouser, Anders hadn't revealed much. Hawke saw the scars though, physical and emotional.

Anders frowned slightly, and Hawke saw behind the carefully constructed mask that seemed to no longer be there.

"You were there, you know how it is."

"I know," Hawke said, picking up a cloth. He rubbed the herbal soap against it, lathering. "I wanted to know what it was like for you."

"Well. Some people like being kicked in the head to be woken up. I expect I was just too picky for their tastes. Other than that, you know. It was a picnic. Don't even know why I tried to get away from it all. And getting dragged back? All part of the fun."

He wasn't even trying to hide his sarcasm. It was outright anger. Hawke sighed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"The Circle's not a solution, Commander."

"I'm not sure joining the Wardens is one either," Hawke said, looking up at him.

Anders smiled, though it was wry and sad. "Well, too late for that, so we'll have to make the best of it. I'll see you at breakfast."

Hawke nodded and watched him leave before turning back to the soap and cloth. He reheated the water with a careful spell and sank down low, looking up at the ceiling, wondering for neither the first nor the last time how he'd been kicked backwards in time into this body, and why.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning passed in a flurry of paperwork and meeting those who would assist him in governing the arling, which was good because Hawke had absolutely no idea how Ferelden politics and land ownership worked. His own family when they lived in Ferelden performed work where they could, moving every few months or few years, depending on how long it took the templars to catch up with them. There were only so many places you could hide three mages, two of which were children just coming into their magic. He deferred to Garevel and Woolsey and they promised to bring reports to his desk.

"Commander?"

Hawke was face down in a pile of papers, his uneaten lunch sitting on a side table. For all the complaining that he did, being the Champion of Kirkwall with its many responsibilities and errands, he would have taken it any day over the mess that was governing an arling.

"Hn?"

"Are you feeling well?" Varel sounded amused.

"Hn."

Hawke lifted his head, a piece of paper sticking to his forehead as he did so. He brushed it away and looked up, bringing Varel into focus. Staring at budgets and field reports and tax papers had made his eyes cross.

"There are two things that need your somewhat immediate attention."

"Anything to get away from this," Hawke said, restacking a pile that had fallen. He crossed to retrieve his lunch, pleased to see the bottle of wine with it, and slumped back down in his chair. "What can I help with?"

"A man was caught sneaking around the Vigil several nights ago before the darkspawn attacked. He refuses to give his name and we thought it best to wait for you to decide what to do with him."

"A thief?" Hawke guessed.

"The Vigil was somewhat abandoned after the death of Arl Howe," Varel explained. "Unfortunately it became a target for looters."

Hawke wondered if the man hadn't simply been looking for coin or food in order to feed his family. "I'll look into it. And the second thing?"

"The lords of Amaranthine have been called to swear their fealty to you and the Grey Wardens. These were Arl Howe's vassals, and now they will be yours."

"Is that entirely necessary?" Hawke asked. He didn't look forward to the idea of sitting in a hall while others took a knee for him. Paid servants were one thing, but swearing oaths was something completely different. He missed the simplicity of Kirkwall's city-state nature. Ferelden was his home, but he'd never thought much of the monarchy, even if Cailan had been a fair and just king.

"I'm afraid so," Varel said with a hint of amusement in his tone. He fell serious once again. "Many of them bore Howe no love, but when he died, their prospects died with him. You may face some… heady opposition."

Great, just what he needed. Banns demanding his head on a spike for one stupid reason or another. And the fact that he was mage and a Grey Warden didn't do him any favors either.

"Very well," Hawke sighed. "How's-" He stopped and corrected himself. "How are the new recruits?" He didn't want to reveal his feelings for Anders, unsure what kind of repercussions it would have. After all, he was the man's superior now.

"They've both had triple helpings at each meal and have been making themselves useful with the repairing of the walls."

"Well that's good at least," Hawke said, though he would've liked a bit more detail on Anders. There was just no way to get closer to him without tipping his hand or crossing a line. It was frustrating. They'd barely slept apart since that first night they were together, and coupled with the nightmares he had now when he tried to sleep, Hawke was simply exhausted.

"I'll see to the prisoner first then."

"Very good, Commander. It's the first door on the right as you leave the keep. Anything else?"

Hawke shook his head. "Thank you, Varel."

Varel bowed slightly and left, and Hawke decided that he was nicest seneschal he'd ever met. Of course he'd only ever met two in his life, and Bran had a perpetual stick up his arse so there wasn't really a lot he had to compare it to. Still, Varel was extremely helpful and seemed pleased with Hawke overall so far. He would simply have to continue to keep doing whatever it was he was doing to make them all happy.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and took up his staff. Not that he thought he'd need it simply walking the grounds, but with the recent darkspawn attack, one couldn't be too careful. He got lost twice before breaking down to ask a serving girl how to get to the courtyard, and found the door to the dungeons almost at once.

"Ah, Commander, good thing you're here," the guard said, leading him through to the cells. "This one's been locked up three nights now. Protected in his cage while good men died." The guard turned to glare at the man in the cell.

Hawke turned, and startled suddenly. He recognized the man. "Nathaniel?"

The prisoner scowled. "Someone told you my name, did they?"

He'd met Nathaniel Howe in the Deep Roads on request from Howe's sister. Anders had spoken about him, seemed almost excited to hear about him. And they were very friendly and familiar with one another when they met. Hawke had been jealous. He never asked if Anders had been intimate with Nathaniel, and Anders never offered any information. Still, Hawke hadn't liked how close they seemed to be. This was how they met, then. The Warden-Commander conscripted Howe into the Wardens and they became comrades-in-arms. Hawke could prevent that easily from happening now. But what would be the point? Nathaniel was, after all, someone Anders had considered a friend. Hawke couldn’t take that away from him.

"Something like that," Hawke offered.

The guard shook his head. "I'll leave you to it, Commander. Good luck with this one – just let the seneschal know what you'd like us to do with this scum."

Hawke barely acknowledged him as he left.

"Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall with lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes," Nathaniel said, standing and moving toward the bars.

Hawke had to look up at him. He really, really disliked being so short. "Reports of my grandeur are clearly overrated," he said.

"Clearly," Nathaniel snorted derisively, folding his arms. "I just thought my father's murderer would be more impressive."

_Murderer?_ Hawke thought. Nathaniel Howe's father. Rendon Howe. The man whose arling it was. Oh Maker, this just kept getting better and better, didn't it? Suddenly he found himself dreading the meeting of the nobles tonight for a far different reason than he'd had just moments ago.

"My family owned these lands before _you_ showed up," Nathaniel spat. "Do you even remember my father?"

He didn't. He'd never personally met the man, though he'd heard tales of Howe's treachery. There was something about slavers in Denerim, but Corff's rumor mill couldn't always be trusted. He kept silent.

Nathaniel scowled. "I came here… I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you." He wrapped a hand around one of the bars, staring at Hawke. "But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It's all I have left."

Hawke wondered if the Warden-Commander felt the sympathy he was feeling right now for Nathaniel. He knew what it was like to lose a home, to lose family.

"Whatever my father did," Nathaniel continued, "it shouldn't fall on the rest of the family. The rest of the Howes are pariahs now, those of us left." He let out another short, wry laugh. "It's all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn't it?"

Hawke moved away from the bars. To decide this man's fate, well, he'd already made up his mind, hadn't he? "The sins of the father…" he muttered.

"What?"

His eye caught a chest and he opened it. Inside was a longbow and some leathers. "These yours?" he asked, lifting the bow.

"Yes," Nathaniel said defiantly.

Hawke had seen him shoot, had watched him bring down several darkspawn like he'd been born with a bow in his hands. "Then I know what to do with you."

"Already? Good. I was getting tired of rotting in my own dungeon."

Hawke left to fetch the seneschal.


	5. Chapter 5

Nathaniel had slept immediately after surviving the Joining. Hawke set Oghren to look after him more as a ploy to keep the dwarf busy and away from Anders so he could speak with him privately than out of concern for Nathaniel. He found Anders not working on clearing the damage to the keep, but flirting with a scullion in the kitchens. She was leaning against the wall, blushing, looking away from him while he leaned in close, forearm braced against the wall.

"I swear it," Anders purred. "I've only ever seen the color of your eyes once before, as I beheld a beautiful blue sapphire. Though it didn't sparkle nearly as much."

Frustration and jealousy overtook him. He was used to Anders flirting lightly with their companions – hell, it was near impossible not to flirt with Isabela after all – but this was… And the woman was buying into it. She giggled, _giggled_! As Anders drew her face back. He leaned in slowly…

"Everything going well here?" Hawke asked loudly.

The woman startled and squeaked and ran off. Anders sighed, turning to look at him.

"It was only a small break, Commander," he insisted, dropping his arm slowly to look at him. "Surely you couldn't deny me that."

Hawke remembered hearing about his adventures after escaping the Circle. A mage on the run, stopping to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. And those pleasures included sex. Lots of it, apparently, though Hawke never liked to think about it. His own history wasn't nearly as varied or impressive as Anders'. There was a girl from Redcliffe and another from Lothering. A trip to the Rose when he was in Kirkwall shortly after the Deep Roads expedition and then Anders himself. He'd never regretted his lack of experience. Anders more than made up for it, with his ability to go all night if he so wished, and his unending patience in teaching Hawke what felt good.

"Normally I wouldn't. Take a walk with me."

"I'll never say no to fresh air," Anders said agreeably.

Hawke had no plausible reason for bringing him around the grounds. He just missed the easy banter they had, the conversations, no matter how light or deep they were. Soldiers and servants alike nodded to him as they passed. It was like being in Lowtown where everyone knew his face and his title, if not his name.

"What's it like?" Anders mused. "Having everyone answer to you? The Hero of Ferelden, a mage. I bet that tickles the nobles, doesn't it? Bowing to a robe."

Hawke blanched at the nickname. Though he'd never personally been subjected to the insult, he'd heard templars referring to their charges as such. It rankled him, and he thought it bothered Anders as well. Apparently before he met him, Anders had a thick wall of defense built up, and that wall was mostly made of sarcasm and jokes.

"To be perfectly honest, I hate it."

That wasn't the response that Anders was expecting, the bounce leaving his step. "No, I expect it wouldn't be much fun at all. Me, I just want to be left alone. I suppose that's what most of us want."

'Us,' Hawke knew meant mages. Underneath the jokes, he could see Anders, _his_ Anders. The one he'd grown to love. He wondered if they'd met earlier if he would've fallen so hard and so fast for the sad smile and tired eyes. His Anders was one that was broken down to his core, trying his best to survive as well as triumph. This Anders was somewhat bitter, somewhat angry. Had Justice changed him, or was it the Deep Roads, or something else entirely?

"How many times did you escape the tower?"

"Oh… half a dozen give or take?" Anders guessed. "It became a bit of a game after the first, trying to come up new ways." He laughed. "It was as if the templars weren't even trying after a while. I expect they got bored of playing."

"What was the longest you were out for?"

"Two… two and half months," Anders said thoughtfully. "I went a little too close to Highever and they tracked me there. Nice dungeons in Highever by the way. Really classy."

Hawke didn't ask the next question that threatened to surface. He didn't need Anders to tell him how the templars treated him. He'd seen the scars on his lover's back.

"Oh!" Anders said, kneeling down. "Come here, come here kitty."

Hawke raised an eyebrow and followed Anders' gaze. An orange tabby sat in the grass, idly licking a paw. Anders kissed at it, trying to lure it over. It sniffed the air and trotted over, tail swishing interestedly. When it came close, Anders scratched it behind its ears and pulled something from his pack.

"Dried meat," Anders said, grinning up at him. "Apparently the Joining makes you ravenous so I took some from the kitchens. Didn't think you'd mind."

Hawke shook his head, returning the grin. Anders turned back to the cat and held out the meat. The cat sniffed and licked, then took it from his fingers, shaking it viciously.

"Aw, that's a good kitty," Anders cooed. "You kill that mean old dried out cow." He continued to pet it. "I don't see a collar."

"Probably a stray," Hawke said, then realized. "You should give it a home."

Anders, who'd settled in the grass, scratching at the cat's backside, looked up. "Really?"

"It's clear you've already made friends. He can stay with you. Keep you safe."

Hawke had never seen Anders smile wider.

"I'll call you Ser Pounce-a-lot," Anders said, moving the cat into his lap, scratching now with both hands. "How do you like that?" he asked, cooing again.

The cat started to purr, circling in his lap, tail thwacking Anders in the face as he moved around, and let out a mewl.

"He likes it," Hawke noted.

"You can stay in my pack when we do Warden-y things," Anders told Ser Pounce-a-lot, getting to his feet. He cradled the cat against his chest. "I had a cat once. Well. He wasn't mine. A mouser in the tower called Mr. Wiggums. He kept me company when I was in solitary."

Hawke nodded. He'd heard the story. It was one of the things that contributed to Anders' claustrophobia. He thought he might burn down all of Kinloch Hold, since it was accessible to him now. No one would suspect the Hero of Ferelden of arson.

"Did you ever get a taste of it?" Anders asked.

Hawke frowned.

"Not… not that it's any of my business. Sorry, shouldn't have asked," Anders said quickly.

"No, it's fine," Hawke assured him. "Considering we're the only two mages here, probably for miles. I'm… questions are fine," he said finally. "No, I was never in solitary." At least he didn't think he was. It would be a shame to get to the Deep Roads and have the Warden-Commander's body react to the oppressive stone and darkness. He hoped that any claustrophobia he suffered would keep itself at bay while he inhabited this body.

"Good. Good," Anders muttered. "They say it's a humane punishment, you know. Opposed to anything else."

"It's not," Hawke said abruptly, his anger at the unjust suffered by his lover.

Anders looked at him, frowning slightly.

"I… I've got to go get ready for the… the stupid… nobles," Hawke rambled, and quickly turned, hurrying back to the keep.

He would have to learn to better control his emotions.


	6. Chapter 6

The meeting of the nobles was as dull and boring as Hawke had thought it would be. Thankfully he wasn't made to sit in a chair the entire night while they came and kissed his feet. Once they all bent their knee and swore their oaths, Hawke was free to move around the hall. His servant, the elven woman who'd drawn his bath the first night, had laid out silk robes. They were at least plain, light blue, and held with a simple belt. Maybe some of the Warden's own? Still, even though they weren't to Hawke's tastes and he would've killed for a pair of pants, they were comfortable enough.

The banns were amiable, though some tried to avoid his eye as if that would be enough to keep him at bay. Despite being their arl and their savior, they still had repercussions about being led by a mage. It was an entirely different feeling than Hawke had with his own group of friends in Kirkwall. Varric and Isabela had seemed indifferent to his status. Aveline was wary at first but they'd built a solid rapport. Merrill and Anders of course were only too happy to follow his lead, while Fenris had been cautious upon their first meeting. The elf was now a trustworthy companion, even telling Sebastian under no circumstances would he ever turn in Hawke or the others to the knight-commander.

But here in this hall, the only people who seemed actually fond of him were Varel (who also seemed as eager as Hawke to end the gathering), Woolsey who likely worked with mages all the time considering her status in the Wardens, and Garevel who had an easy nature about him. Of course there was also Anders, Oghren and Nathaniel, the latter of whom was sticking to the shadows, trying not to be seen. Hawke avoided the dwarf, who was trying to catch his eye, waving him over to a large cask. He nodded to Anders briefly before stepping up to Nathaniel.

"Feeling all right?" Hawke asked.

Nathaniel 'hmphed' and looked away. "You know it's funny. Considering all the things that have been taken, it figures this would still be here." He was gazing at a portrait of a woman.

"Is that… your mother?" Hawke guessed.

"That's her," Nathaniel confirmed.

Hawke looked at the portrait as Nathaniel talked about his mother's family, the propriety, the hatred his father held. He wondered idly if his own father would've hated the Amells. The only people Malcolm ever seemed to hate were the templars, and a lot of that contempt was mixed with a certain kind of pity.

"Not that I'd ever want to return to my mother's family," Nathaniel said with a scowl. "Someone should take this down. It's staring at me."

Sensing the end of the conversation, Hawke merely nodded. He made a mental note to have the portrait removed, possibly have it burnt. Though he'd been meaning to stay away from Anders, to give the other man some space, he was drawn back to him. Anders was leaning against a pillar, watching the nobles mingle.

"You seem to be getting used to it. Hobnobbing with the nobility. It suits you."

Hawke bit back the immediate response. Anders had said something similarly to him in Cumberland when they responded to Duke Prosper's hunting invitation. "I'd rather be in a rundown tavern drinking swill and singing dirty sea shanties."

Anders let out a surprised laugh. "Pardon my saying so, Commander, but you don't really seem the type."

"Type?"

"Oh you know. Barbaric. And drunk. You look about as straight-laced as they come."

"I do?" Hawke asked. He'd yet to glance in a mirror.

"Perhaps it's the face. Innocent and all. Or maybe it's because you're so young."

"Maybe I should grow a beard," Hawke joked. He did miss his beard. The clean shaven feeling was odd.

"I like beards," Anders agreed.

Hawke knew it. Anders enjoyed stroking his, threading his fingers through it, rubbing his cheek against Hawke's. He even commented once about how it felt on his thighs when Hawke would suck him off. Hawke had decided then and there that night that he would never shave it off.

"Anyway, on a serious note, I overheard some whispers."

"Whispers?"

"I didn't hear much. There were a few gathered by the alcove. Something about, "must be dealt with" and "we're all in agreement." Not much to go on, I know. But they were definitely trying to keep it from you."

Hawke couldn’t say he was surprised. The way some of the nobles talked to him coupled with everything he was and everything he – well, the _Warden_ had done, he was shocked they hadn't murdered him right there in the Vigil's hall. "What do you think?"

"Well I could paralyze them and search their immobile bodies for evidence, but maybe the seneschal has a more diplomatic solution that doesn't involve the use of fireballs."

"I like your fireballs," Hawke said absently, his mind on a potential attack on his life.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Careful what you say, Warden-Commander. One might think that was an innuendo." He smirked.

Hawke fought the desire to pin him to the pillar and kiss him breathless. While he was almost sure Anders would enjoy it and the seneschal would at least be a little amused, the rest of the nobles would simply have another reason to hate him.

"I'll keep that in mind, Anders," he said, unable to resist reaching out and gently touching his hand before walking away.

He felt Anders' eyes on him still as he approached the seneschal to let him know the new development. For the rat's nest that was Kirkwall with its nighttime gangs, Qunari attacks and rogue blood mages, it was turning out that Vigil's Keep was far, far more dangerous.


	7. Chapter 7

"And he burnt it?"

"Yes. I was… touched."

Hawke tried not to smirk as he overheard Anders and Nathaniel talking behind him, trying to keep their voices down. They were traversing the basement of the Vigil, having learned where the darkspawn might have come from. Sergeant Maverlies had called on him early that morning to deal with a cave-in and darkspawn sightings from her men. Hawke was beginning to realize that being a Grey Warden was a lot like being the Champion, only with more taint.

They hadn't been too far in when they found a note around the neck of a dying mabari. Hawke's heart went out to her, keeping her comforted as she passed. He missed his own, and wondered now about his body. Were there two Hawkes? Was he going through the motions that he'd already done? It made his head hurt to think about it.

"It's just a dumb dog," Oghren muttered.

Hawke glared up at him, but felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked; Nathaniel was there, offering a consoling, tight-lipped smile. Hawke returned it before looking back, picking out a bit of folded paper and reading it.

"From a woman called Adria-"

Nathaniel snatched the paper from his hand and read it. "Adria! She… she was like a mother to me. Please, Commander, we have to help her."

"Of course," Hawke said, getting up.

He didn't like the idea of people trapped down here, likely suffering from the taint if the darkspawn got to them. They moved quickly, facing a lot of opposition. But Oghren was a capable warrior, he had to admit, keeping their enemies off them while they fought from a ranged position. Still, he found himself missing his brother, missing Fenris and Aveline. And Nathaniel was skilled, amazingly so, but he was no substitute for Varric.

"Oh thank the Maker!" a man called from his cage.

Hawke took out the last of the resurrected prisoners, ghoulish creatures crawling with darkspawn taint, sunken eyes and stinking of rotting flesh. He approached the cell and looked at the lock.

"I thought those things were going to eat us," the man's companion said.

Hawke had no idea who these men were or why they were locked down here, but he found he didn't much care. Being made to watch your fellow prisoners come back to life and start to eat one another was punishment enough. If it didn't set them on the straight and narrow, nothing else would.

"I can take care of that," Nathaniel offered, nodding at the lock.

"Please."

Hawke stepped aside and watched him take out a set of lockpicks. Once the cell door swung open, the prisoners ran for it, back up the stairs. If they were caught again, Hawke would have to give them a full pardon. Anders nodded in approval.

"Handy, skills like that," Anders said to Nathaniel. "Didn't think a nobleman's son would be able to pick locks."

"I didn't spend my time in the Free Marches whoring and getting drunk."

"Your loss, I suppose," Anders shrugged. "Or theirs," he added with a leer.

Hawke tried not to bristle visibly. At least Nathaniel didn't respond to the flirt. "Let's go."

They found Adria too late, and Hawke gave Nathaniel time to mourn, promising they would bring her body to be wrapped and burned. Burying was too risky, the state that she was in. Not to mention the potential for her to rise again and dig herself out of the grave. Hawke wasn't even sure whatever foul magic had brought her back worked that way, but he didn't want to think on it too much. He still had nightmares of his own mother's shambling corpse.

"Commander?"

Hawke was getting used to the title. He looked over. Anders was smirking a bit. "Hm?"

"Thought we lost you there a moment," he said. "Your eyes sort of glazed over a bit."

"I'm fine. Just… thinking."

He spoke with Sergeant Maverlies and Voldrik regarding the cave in. It was decided upon that Voldrik would search for a chokepoint and report back his findings. Hawke led the other three back up the stairs and into the courtyard.

"Well, nothing like a jaunt through darkspawn-infested basements to work up your appetite," Anders said.

"We need to go to Amaranthine," Nathaniel argued. "We can't delay for things like-"

"Food?" Anders asked. "Sustenance? The very essence which keeps the body in motion? Oh of course, why would we want to stop for a silly thing like _that_?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and Hawke watched Anders grin at his irritation.

"We'll make a stop in the city," Hawke compromised.

"Works for me," Anders said, hurrying to catch up to Nathaniel, who'd stalked off ahead.

Hawke followed, half-listening to Oghren as he talked. His mind, however, was on Anders, who was nudging Nathaniel in an attempt to get the other man to joke back. It was difficult to keep his jealousy in check, and he was considering setting Nathaniel on fire to prove a point when Oghren snapped his fingers just below his nose.

"What?" Hawke growled, looking down at the dwarf.

"I've known you a long time now, Commander-"

He did?

"-and I only ever saw you give that look once before. Had to be another mage, ehn? Hah! Well. I know he's pretty and all but I didn't think you, y'know. Played for that team."

Hawke frowned. "What in the name of the Maker are you on about?"

"The mage. You. Him. The horizontal tango."

It would be just his luck that Oghren of all people would notice him staring at Anders. Maybe dwarves just had an affinity for bluntly pointing out things like that. Varric had done so – much more delicately perhaps – one evening in the Hanged Man after Anders had left.

_"What's this for?" Hawke asked, as Varric handed him a handkerchief._

_"To wipe the drool from your chin."_

_"What are you on about, Varric?"_

_Varric smirked. "You've been staring at Blondie all night. And all last night. And all the night before. It's fairly obvious how you feel about him. Just go talk to him before you drown us all in a puddle."_

He'd stalked out angrily, but apologized later to Varric. He did, after all, have a point. It was only unfortunate that it had taken Hawke two more years to actually say anything to him. He looked at Anders, who now had his arm slung around Nathaniel's shoulders. Oghren clapped Hawke on the back.

"Sucks, kid. First you lose your girl, and your guy is sweet on someone else. I'll buy you a drink when we get to the city, all right?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Oghren," he said absently.

The dwarf took off after the others and Hawke paused a moment.

"Wait," he said quietly to himself. "What girl?"


	8. Chapter 8

The city was overwhelming. Not nearly as large as Kirkwall, but vastly busier. Hawke couldn't remember any cities like Amaranthine when he was growing up in Ferelden. Perhaps they'd simply never been to any, trying to avoid the templars. His memories were cloudy and he recalled only the smaller villages in the south like Lothering and Redcliffe. Amaranthine was perhaps a quarter of the size of Kirkwall, but seemed to hold dozens more people. He checked his list, having had Varel write down the errands that needed checking on.

He sent Oghren on ahead to scout for a tavern, warning him not to get drunk as they still had work to do, and Nathaniel set off to see if he could find information about his sister. Though he was starting to become slightly nervous around Anders, now aware of his longing stares, it was good he had him by his side. Especially when they were attacked in broad daylight by a group of smugglers. Not even the thugs in Kirkwall were that stupid.

"Are you all right, Commander?" one of the city guardsmen asked, helping Hawke to his feet.

"Ah! Ah, ow, don't," Hawke hissed, pushing him away.

"Broken ankle," Anders said, almost cheerfully as he knelt. "Easy there, Commander. Nice trick with the lightning. How did you get it to chain like that?"

_You taught me that,_ was what he wanted to say. "Practice."

"This might hurt."

Hawke gritted his teeth as Anders removed his boot, and chanced a look down. His foot was in an entirely unnatural position. "Oh… Maker."

"Yeah, they're not really meant to bend that way."

He would have liked to have said he didn't scream in agony when Anders set the bone, but that would have been a lie. When the pain faded and he finally opened his eyes, he was looking up at Anders, who was leaning over him, brushing his hair back.

"Second time I've seen you on your back now in my presence," he joked. "I guess I just have that effect."

Hawke tried to respond, but the pain was intense. "Can you just… elfroot or…"

"Open up," Anders said, pressing a leaf to Hawke's lips. "Chew that."

He opened his mouth and the sweet, earthy tang of elfroot touched his tongue. He couldn't help it; he licked at Anders' fingers as he took in the leaf. There was a very brief flicker of surprise on Anders' face before it was gone. Hawke chewed slowly and the pain faded. Anders tucked an arm beneath his shoulders and helped him up. As he was getting to his feet, Oghren and Nathaniel came jogging up.

"I heard the sounds of fighting and a horrible scream. Commander, are you all right?" Nathaniel asked.

Hawke hobbled a bit, testing his weight on his ankle. It was sore, but fine. "Smugglers with more balls than brains," he said, nodding his thanks to Anders.

"You mages are too squishy," Oghren laughed.

"Says the dwarf with the beer gut," Anders shot back easily.

"I think we should head to the Crown and Lion," Nathaniel said, hoping to diffuse a fight. "A little bit of food wouldn't go amiss, and they have a good brew."

"Lead the way," Hawke said, gesturing. "Did you find your sister?"

"I did," he said, smiling a little. "She's happy. She… she didn't marry her husband because she had to. She's in love. They're due in the spring."

With the craziness that Kirkwall had to offer and now dealing with mountains of paperwork and darkspawn, Hawke completely forgot that normal things like weddings and pregnancies still happened. Aveline and Donnic had gotten married just a few years ago, but the affair was brief and somewhat subdued and Hawke didn't think they'd be having kids any time soon.

"That's… that's wonderful," he said with all sincerity. "I'll make sure you're continued to be stationed here so you can see your niece or nephew."

Nathaniel's smile widened just a bit. "Thank you, Commander."

"Aw, yeah. He's certainly the thoughtful one, ain't he?" Oghren said. "Getting a little teary-eyed, Commander? Just missing your woman, eh?"

There it was again. "Oghren… what?" 

He noticed that Nathaniel and Anders were looking at him interestedly. They exchanged a look, Anders mouthing, 'Woman?' with a raised eyebrow.

"I know Morrigan left you high and dry, but you don't need to pretend you two weren't sweet on each other. I mean, the camp wasn't that big after all. Our Commander here," Oghren said, turning to the other two, "he really turned on the charm. I didn't think anyone could get into that witch's cauldron if you know what I'm saying."

"Well you're not exactly subtle," Anders countered.

Morrigan. The name was familiar. Why, though?

_"And if I know my Morrigan…"_

Flemeth. Flemeth's daughter. Oh Maker, the Hero of Ferelden had a relationship with Flemeth's daughter?! He tried not to look surprised.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said quickly.

"Of course not. I know what heartache feels like, kid. To have the love of your life leave you. At least she didn't leave you for another woman, though."

Anders snickered.

"Shut it, you man-skirt wearing freak," Oghren snapped.

But Anders couldn't help it. "Your wife left you for another woman? That's impressive. I've never met another man so repulsive that they turned their lovers off so much they'd go running to another woman. It's a level of disgust you don't see every day."

"Yeah well maybe if I ran around in a dress like you all day she'd have stayed thinking I was a woman. Bet you get offers all the time from people thinking you're a girl."

"Of course I do," Anders said. "I'm pretty. Unlike you."

Nathaniel was shaking his head now, but Hawke saw no reason to stop their banter. He listened to it as they climbed the steps and rounded the corner. Anders stopped short, ignoring Oghren's last insult, and Hawke followed his gaze. There was an elven woman leaning against a fence post, arms crossed. She was looking around, and when she saw Anders, her expression darkened.

"Just a second," Anders said, and hurried over.

Hawke had never seen her before in his life, nor had Anders ever made mention of any elven woman from his past. Another on-the-run lover? He followed.

"Oy! About time you showed up," she said, glaring.

"Namaya, you're still here." He sounded relieved.

"I keep my promises," she said. "Here, turns out you were right. The cache is here in Amaranthine."

Anders' face lit up. "It is?" He sounded hopeful. "You found it?"

Namaya nodded. "I did. What you do with that information is up to you. I, for one, am done dealing with mages." She glanced over at Hawke and scowled.

"Er… I guess I should thank you," Anders said awkwardly.

"Damned right you should," Namaya snapped. "You get caught, Anders, I'm not helping you again," she said, poking a finger in his chest. "That's all I'm saying."

She left, glaring at Hawke as she passed. Hawke watched her go, then turned to Anders, who was looking sheepish.

"I… suppose that requires some explanation," he said, sighing.

"Can we do it over an ale?" Oghren said, jerking a thumb down the street. "Getting a little parched."

"You don't have to explain yourself," Hawke said gently, though he hoped Anders would.

"I… let's get something to eat and I'll tell you about it," Anders relented.

Hawke eagerly led the way to the tavern.


	9. Chapter 9

"So you think your phylactery is here in Amaranthine?" Hawke asked.

They were sitting at a table in the corner, bowls of stew in front of them. Hawke and Nathaniel sipped at watered down wine while Anders appeared to be too anxious to either or eat or drink. Oghren on the other hand had three empty bowls already piled up and he was on his fifth flagon of ale. Hawke hadn't decided yet if the dwarf was always drunk or if it simply took him a lot more alcohol to put him in his cups.

"That's why I came here," Anders said. "Namaya promised to look into it. With the attack on Denerim and the archdemon and all, the Circle's phylacteries were moved here for safe-keeping. Mine is with them."

"And you want to go looking for it?" Hawke prompted.

"If… if that's all right," Anders said hesitantly.

"They shouldn’t be able to control you. We'll look before we leave."

Nathaniel made a noise in the back of his throat but said nothing. 

Anders looked surprised, but extremely pleased. "Well. I should've expected that from a fellow mage, I suppose. Still, thank you, Commander. If they have your phylactery, we can destroy yours as well."

Hawke nodded. He supposed the Hero of Ferelden would have to owe him a favor after that. If he even remembered that his body was borrowed for a couple of days. Or weeks. Maker, what if he never got back? But who could he honestly talk to about this? He might ask the seneschal, but if dark magic was at play, he might not have any answers. The only other mage around was Anders. He was Circle-trained so possibly he might know. How to bring it up? And how to answer any awkward questions? He'd have to ask without revealing who he really was. Hawke jiggled his knee absently, frowning as he looked down at his bowl of stew.

"Something the matter, Commander?" Nathaniel asked.

"Just thinking," Hawke replied, forcing a smile.

"You do that too much," Oghren said, letting out a belch.

"Oh could you be any more disgusting," Anders said, waving a hand in front of his face. "Maker, it smells like something died in your mouth."

"Jealous."

"Of what? Your ability to clear a room?"

"My raw animalistic attraction."

"I'll pass on that, thanks," Anders said. "Where are you going?" he asked, as Hawke got to his feet.

"Need to ask about Kristoff," he said, remembering his notes. "Varel said he was out scouting when the Vigil was attacked. I'll be back."

Hawke inquired at the bar and took a copy of Kristoff's key from the innkeeper. Anders got up to join him as he left the main hall.

"Not hungry?" Hawke asked.

"The belching dwarf's put me off the stew. Also I think it might have been rat, not beef."

"Rat's got a lot of protein," Hawke said absently. He found Kristoff's room and unlocked it, stepping inside.

Anders ignited a wisp, sending the ball of magic high into the air to provide some light. Hawke glanced at him, but the smile died on his lips. Alone in a room with Anders since their first night. The greenish light the wisp was giving cast him into an ethereal glow. Maker, how he wanted to lean up and kiss him. If it had been himself in his own present instead of Anders' past, he would have without hesitation. Anders wasn't very big on public displays of affection, but Hawke could never help himself.

"All right, Commander?" Anders asked, brows knitting perplexedly.

Hawke licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You're awfully distracted lately. Maybe you ought to try a sleeping draught. I could see if there are any ingredients at the Vigil. Mix something up."

"…Sure," Hawke muttered, moving in to search the room. The further he got away from Anders, the better. Though not always so pragmatic in thought, he didn't want to accidentally alter the history of Thedas. So far he'd managed not to step on any butterflies, but something told him that the Hero of Ferelden throwing himself at his mage companion would somehow inadvertently start the next Exalted March.

It just wasn't worth the risk. 

So instead he moved to the desk, picking up a journal, flipping to the last entry and read.

"He went to a town called Blackmarsh."

"Well that sounds cheerful and inviting, doesn't it?"

_"When you say things like that, Blondie, it makes me glad I didn't know you before."_

Hawke smiled wryly at the memory of Anders telling Varric one of his Grey Warden stories. He'd been jealous that Anders seemed to open up so readily to Varric, and shut down when it came to telling him about them. Possibly Anders was trying to keep him away from the horrors of his past, not wanting to burden him with it. But there wasn't anything he wouldn't weather for Anders. He hoped his lover knew that. And what was happening now in that timeline, or was it even happening? Did the entire world revert back to this year, or were there splintering threads of time like the branches of a tree?

His head was hurting again. He moved to the map on the wall, leaning up to look at it. The light followed him and he felt Anders behind him.

"It's a map of the arling," Anders noted, and Hawke could feel his breath warm over his ear. "Everything's crossed out except Blackmarsh. I guess that's really our destination then, hm?"

Hawke turned to agree and stopped again, suddenly very aware of their close proximity. Anders smiled down at him. Hawke thought he was leaning in just a little.

_Maker, is he going to…_

"Commander!"

Hawke was going to kill Nathaniel Howe.

"Yes?" Hawke asked, leaning over, peeking around Anders, who stepped back and turned.

"Found anything?"

Oghren laughed. "Or were you too busy playing kissy-face to bother to do your job?"

Hawke fought the blush that rose in his cheeks, hoping that the Warden-Commander at least did not possess a fair complexion. "Blackmarsh," he said. "That's where we'll find Kristoff."

He stalked out, shoving the journal to Nathaniel's chest, ignoring Oghren's laughter as he went. He would make it through this, even if it killed him.


	10. Chapter 10

It was nearly nightfall by the time Hawke finished up the errands he had to run in the city. The timing worked, however, as the warehouse that Namaya had told them about was devoid of guards. Nathaniel picked the lock on the door and they let themselves inside. The room was dim, lit by a few lanterns on the walls.

"They should be around here somewhere," Anders muttered, igniting a ball of flame in his hand as he moved to search the crates.

"Spread out," Hawke ordered the other two.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Nathaniel asked.

Anders glanced over. "Little glass vials of blood. Or pewter. They could be using pewter, I don't know why but sometimes they change the material. Mine was in glass though, I remember that."

"Think they'll have names on?" Hawke asked, using the end of his staff to pry open a crate.

"You know I'm not entirely sure how they keep track of them," Anders said thoughtfully. "In fact, I don't know how they use the blood to fi-" He stopped, frowning. "Blood magic, possibly? But the Chantry expressly forbids-" He broke off, sneezing at some dust. "Hypocrites," he said finally.

Hawke agreed. He remembered DuPuis, how the man had used Alessa's blood to track Leandra. Did the Circle keep a blood mage on retainer just to track down other mages? It wasn't a question he was ever able to ask his father and it seemed that Anders had no more answers than he did. Perhaps if he got back to his time and Kirkwall he would ask Orsino.

A door creaked open, causing all of them to turn. Two templars emerged from a back room, and Hawke recognized the woman.

"And here I almost believed the infamous Anders wouldn’t take the bait," Rylock said, drawing her sword.

Hawke moved in front of Anders immediately, taking out his staff. From across the room, he saw Oghren and Nathaniel shift in the shadows. The templars hadn't noticed them yet, and he held his hand out, flat and parallel to the ground. It was a Coterie signal to stand down and wait, and he hoped they recognized it.

"Ah," Anders said, sounding defeated. "Yes, I suppose I should have known it would be you."

"You made a poor choice with this one, Commander. Anders will never submit, not to us and not to you."

_Isn't that the truth?_ Hawke thought with a smirk. Anders was always willful, doing what he needed to, no matter the consequences. But it was a trait that endeared him to Hawke, that determination and zeal that caused him to fall in love with Anders in the first place.

"He's made a fine Grey Warden so far," he said, and felt Anders straighten behind him. A hand touched his shoulder, causing Hawke's stomach to flutter. He would stand by Anders, no matter what.

"'So far', yes," Rylock said. "I'll make sure that this murderer is never a bother to anyone again."

"What?" Anders cried. "No! You can't arrest me! King Alistair allowed my conscription!"

"The Chantry's authority supersedes the crown in this matter. You cannot hide within the Grey Warden's ranks."

"You would dare go against your king?" Hawke said, surprised though he knew he shouldn't be. Anders had always told him how relentless the templars were. But to disobey a direct order from the king himself? Surely that would be marked as treasonous. "He stays with us!"

"Hardly surprising," Rylock said grimly. "From yet another mage."

Hawke balled his fingers into a fist. A signal.

"I do not know how you inspire such loyalty," Rylock started to say.

There was a _thwunk_ of an arrow loosed from Nathaniel's bow, piercing the other templar through the neck. Rylock turned in surprise and Hawke didn't hesitate. His lightning bolt mixed with Anders' fireball and she cooked almost instantly inside her plate, screaming as her flesh melted. Oghren's groan of disapproval came from the darkness.

"You didn't even let me get a hit in."

"Next time," Hawke promised. "Nice shot," he added, nodding to Nathaniel before looking back to Anders. "Are you all right?"

Anders was frowning, looking hurt. "I wonder if Namaya knew about this… I guess it doesn't really matter though."

Hawke could see the pain in his eyes at the possibility of betrayal from the elf. He reached up, gripping Anders' arm. 

Anders looked down, forcing a smile. "Thank you. You stood by me. I appreciate that."

It was the same sadness Hawke saw all the time in Anders' eyes. He heard the surprise in his voice, as if he couldn't believe that someone would stick up for him. It broke his heart.

"We're friends, Anders."

"I… I suppose we are." The smile was small, but genuine. "Anyhow, let's go before someone else rushes in to waggle a finger at us."

They left the warehouse and the bodies behind. Hawke paid a boy to let the constable know about the templars rotting in the warehouse, telling him not to mention it for at least an hour. They walked back to the Vigil in near silence, Oghren humming as he led the way. Nathaniel remained quiet, a step or two behind the dwarf. Hawke kept pace with Anders.

"I suppose we'll set off for Blackmarsh tomorrow," Anders said.

"If we can find Kristoff, he might be able to shed some light on the darkspawn and why they seem disinclined to go back to the Deep Roads even though the archdemon is dead."

"Commander, can I ask you a… candid question?"

"Of course." Hawke felt a twinge of guilt. In a way, having personal conversations with Anders here felt almost like reading the man's diary. He'd have an insight into his lover's past, information that Anders might not wanted to divulge.

"Oghren said that Morrigan left after you slew the archdemon. Were you… did you love her?"

Of all the questions he'd been expecting, that was likely the last. Hawke frowned.

"I… that's probably too personal. My apologies."

"No, it's all right," Hawke said. "I suppose I did, yes."

The way Oghren spoke about the Hero's feelings for her, he easily assumed it was more than just a fling.

"I'm glad for that, then. Even if you did get your heart broken."

"Why?"

Anders didn't look at him, and Hawke could just see the faint outline of his profile. He smiled sadly.

"Because," Anders said, "I've never known a Circle mage who'd ever dared to fall in love where it didn't end with templars separating them one way or another. You got to choose, and you got your heart broken like any normal person. It was her choice to leave; you weren't ripped apart. It's horrible, of course. But it's also… encouraging."

"Yes," Hawke said quietly, looking away. "I suppose it is."


	11. Chapter 11

They left early the next morning after a large breakfast. Hawke had debriefed Varel and reported his findings of the city, skipping the finer points of the phylactery-hunting and other inconsequential details. Varel seemed pleased with his willingness to get things done. Hawke didn't think he had any other choices at this point. It was either keep busy and run errands or sit in a room until he was consumed by boredom and paperwork. Anything to get out of the Vigil. There were too many people asking him for help, asking for money, asking for orders. As nice as it was to have a place to return to, it reminded him of a prison. He had a feeling that Anders felt the same way, watching as he bounced a little with every step now they were on the road.

"You seem happier this morning," Hawke noted.

"Well I was thinking what's the point of being upset. Rylock was one of the relentless ones. A nasty hunter. She never cared about being gentle. And now she's dead," he said, almost cavalierly.

Hawke was about to respond when there was a rustling in Anders' robes. He unbuttoned the top and Ser Pounce-a-lot poked his head out, mewling.

"You… keep your cat in your robes?" Hawke asked.

"He doesn't like it in the pack. It's much too stuffy. Isn't that right, Ser Pounce-a-lot?" Anders cooed.

Hawke had heard Anders talk about his cat, his desire to get another one. He promised himself that if he ever got back to Kirkwall, he'd immediately go out and buy his lover a cat.

"But anyway," Anders said , buttoning his robe again once the cat settled down. "I'm really glad to not have to worry about templars now."

"Unless the Chantry sends more after you, against King Alistair's decree."

"Well then," Anders grinned at him, "I'll just have to count on you to be there to protect me, won't I?" He winked.

Hawke nodded dumbly. Maker, how long was he going to have to endure this? It was like the first few years after he'd met Anders all over again. He had been interested, thought Anders had been as well. There were a few casual, careful flirtations, touches. But Anders rebuffed him, more out of the unwillingness to hurt Hawke and not get hurt in return. The potential for heartache was there, until Hawke had almost all but given up. And then Anders kissed him and he could hardly believe it. Nearly four years they'd been together now and he'd gotten used to being able to touch him, to hold him whenever he wished.

"You went off somewhere again," Anders said. "I should've checked to see if I could mix that potion. Well, we're out now so if I see any of the plants I need I can collect them myself. No need to bother the Vigil's staff with it."

"Right. I suppose I am a bit distracted," Hawke said. He would have to be more careful. He wondered if he was acting anywhere close to how the Warden-Commander acted, or if Oghren simply didn't realize he was an entirely different person. Maybe he could count on the dwarf being that oblivious.

Oghren let out a huge belch, causing Nathaniel to drop back another step.

"What?" Oghren said. "That's the punchline!"

Hawke was suddenly very glad he missed the joke.

"You don't actually think your jokes are funny, do you?" Anders asked.

"We should stop here," Nathaniel said. "It's nearly midday and it will take another few hours to reach the city."

Hawke nodded, dropping his pack. He wasn't particularly hungry which he thought odd for a Grey Warden. Perhaps some of his own physiology was leaking into this body. Oghren however, dove right into his pack as they found a fallen log to sit on.

"My jokes are hilarious," Oghren said defensively.

Nathaniel carefully moved away from him and Anders and sat on Hawke's other side. He took out his canteen, taking a sip before offering it Hawke. Hawke took it, resigned to yet another argument between Anders and Oghren. He wondered if those two ever stopped, and if he would ever get a break.

"HAR!" Anders barked. "Let me tell you about my life in one word-" He let out a belch to rival Oghren's.

Not to be outdone, Oghren shot back in a high-pitched, whiny tone, "Oh no! Don't take me back to the tower! I'm far, far too delicate!"

Hawke frowned. Nathaniel sighed, trying to ignore them.

"I'm not only a dwarf," Anders continued, "I'm a moron. Listen to me fart!"

"Oh no, big templar man!" Oghren whined. "What are you going to do with that sword?"

"That's **enough**!" Hawke snapped, startling all three of them. He was seething now. How _dare_ Oghren joke about that? Didn't he know what went on in the Circle? Would he still joke about it if he did?

Nathaniel was the first to recover. "Commander, are you all right?"

Hawke scowled, tossing his pack aside. "I'm not hungry." It was unfair to them, but he needed to be alone, so he stood. "Fifteen minutes and we're leaving," he instructed, and stomped off the path into the woods.

Maybe he was just sensitive to it. He'd never personally suffered at the hands of the templars, not in the Circle. He'd never seen the injustices that Anders had, never been through what he had, what his own father did. Though the Kirkwall Circle was tame in comparison in Malcolm's time, he still fought to escape it. Chantry law made his marriage to Leandra illegal. How was that fair? His parents loved one another. He remembered that they were happy, how in love they were. And his relationship with Anders? There was no way that would have been possible in the Circle. And the Warden's romance with Morrigan?

The Chantry was wrong.

And Oghren was joking about templars forcing themselves upon mages. That wasn't something Hawke could take lightly. He'd seen Alrik's work. He turned mages – Harrowed mages – Tranquil against their will and forced them to submit. There were whispers in the Gallows about other templars too, those who had followed Alrik and still did even though Justice had left him in tiny pieces in the sewers. None of their friends joked about it. They knew better. But Oghren was just one example of the ignorance of the rest of Thedas.

He needed to get back to Kirkwall. He needed to be with Anders, to support him. To see him through to whatever bloody end there would be. If it meant storming the Gallows, then so be it. Perhaps they could find where the Kirkwall phylacteries were stored and set the cache on fire. Whatever it was that his lover wanted to do, he would gladly do it. He would follow him to the Void itself.

After a few calming breaths, Hawke returned to his fellows. They didn't say anything to him, and he couldn't quite meet their eye as they packed up and moved on.


	12. Chapter 12

The Blackmarsh was aptly named. Winds coming in off the Amaranthine Ocean gave the place a very chilly and desolate feeling. The water that collected in stagnant ponds was brackish, a layer of scum overtop. Hawke was glad he'd made them refill their canteens at the last clear pools they'd seen. The sun was just setting, giving the entrance to the place an overall very creepy feeling. He shuddered.

"I'm scared! Hold me!" Anders said, throwing himself against Nathaniel.

Nathaniel shoved him off with a scowl. "They say the Blackmarsh is haunted."

"Do you believe that?" Anders asked earnestly. "Oh do you also believe that if you wank too much, your palms grow hair?" he asked, holding up his hands. "Let's see your palms, Nathaniel, I bet you have enough to braid it now."

Oghren chuckled, and Nathaniel didn't dignify it with a response. Hawke was looking at the blackened and twisted trees. A thick mist was settling, making it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of them. It certainly _looked_ haunted. And while Hawke wasn't entirely sure he believed in ghosts, he did believe in reanimated corpses and other ghastly things that could easily ambush them.

"Be alert," Hawke said, knocking his staff to the ground. The tip alighted, providing at least some luminescence through the darkness.

"You know," Nathaniel said as they started in. "My father used to tell me stories about the Blackmarsh when I was young."

For all the nasty things he'd heard about Arl Rendon Howe, Hawke had a hard time believing he was the type of man who'd tell his children bedtime stories.

"He said evil magic killed everyone here. This was just before the rebellion – a great mystery at the time."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Magic? What kind of magic could've caused this?"

"Blood magic?" Anders suggested, listening now.

"They never found out what happened here," Nathaniel said. "Once the monsters appeared, the marsh was abandoned."

Hawke shivered. Maybe it was the fog or the chill in the air, or perhaps Nathaniel just had a very good voice for telling scary tales, but he was slightly unnerved.

"Bunch of nugshit," Oghren said. "There's no such thing as monsters. Just darkspawn and demons. If it bleeds, it can die." He hoisted his axe a bit further up on his shoulder.

There was some truth to Oghren's statement. Hawke had not yet met an enemy he couldn't engage with magic. For everything else, he'd usually had Carver at his side. He found himself missing his brother, who was now a Grey Warden himself. There was a spark of camaraderie he felt with him. Of course there were better ways to bond than through nightmares and feeling the taint inside your blood, but he would take whatever he could get when it came to Carver.

"You know I used to dream of coming to the Blackmarsh and setting things right." Nathaniel shook his head. "Little boy dreams."

"You get to do it now," Hawke said.

Nathaniel chuckled. "Yes, I suppose I do. If someone had told me I'd end up here, I would have laughed at that. But times change. When I was in Kirkwall-"

The name of the city made Hawke's stomach jolt with longing.

"-I thought I would return to Ferelden to take command of my father's garrison. Now here I am," he said, gesturing to the thick dark trees, the winding bramble lining the path. "A Grey Warden and fighting both darkspawn and demons. Interesting."

"Join the club," Hawke said.

"I already have."

"Was that a joke?" Anders said, leaning up between them, resting one elbow on Hawke's shoulder, the other on Nathaniel's. "Did our Nathaniel Howe just crack a joke? Be still my beating heart. Oy, dwarf! Write this down – Nathaniel made a joke. Mark the date!"

Nathaniel scowled and pulled away, stepping forward quickly.

Anders grinned down at Hawke. "Guess he's the only one allowed to joke now."

Hawke shook his head with a sigh, but did not push away the arm that was still resting on his shoulder. Anders nudged him a bit.

"So Commander-"

A loud howling in the distance interrupted whatever Anders was going to say next. Hawke felt the prickling in his brain, but what came around the corner wasn't darkspawn, but a horde of blightwolves. Personally he'd never seen them, but he felt the taint within them, within himself. Oghren leapt forward at once to engage them, Nathaniel scrambling back to get a shot off. Though the battle was intense, Hawke felt more at ease in the midst of it. They felled the wolves quickly with few injuries and what little they suffered was healed swiftly and efficiently by Anders.

A few hundred yards in they found the ruins of an old town, several darkspawn corpses lying just inside. Oghren toed one of them, rolling it over. Black blood splattered on the ground, sword slashes across its chest and face.

"Dead. Kristoff's doing, maybe?" he said, looking to the others.

"Well, that answers that," Anders said. "We're definitely in the right place."

They fell silent again, picking through the ruins, salvaging supplies. They were attacked once more by blight-infested wolves, though Hawke had to hide his own surprise that these weren't regular wolves.

"Bloody _were_ wolves," Nathaniel spat, slightly out of breath once the fight ended. "I'd only ever heard tales…"

"It probably doesn't help that they were infected with the taint," Hawke said, kneeling down to inspect. Though it wouldn't affect him, he didn't touch the wolf's greasy black fur, instead pushing the corpse over with the edge of his staff.

It would be a story he'd need to tell Varric for sure. Not that he thought Varric would believe him.

"Kristoff should be here somewhere," Hawke said.

"Or what's left of him," Anders added carefully.

There was very little hope of finding Kristoff alive at this point. It had taken the four of them working together to bring down the things that were prowling the marsh. Not ghosts or demons, but powerful and tainted wildlife. A single man, Warden or not, never would've stood a chance. Hawke wondered why the Wardens would've allowed sending out just one of their numbers. If he was Commander – and how ironic that thought was – he never would've sent someone alone.

"What is that?" Nathaniel asked. "It's almost as if…"

In the distance they could see something glowing green and ghost-like. Hawke knew instantly what it was. He'd heard this story from Anders before.

"A tear in the Veil."

"Are you sure?" Anders asked, frowning.

They approached, and while Oghren and Nathaniel seemed somewhat unaffected by it, both Anders and Hawke had to take several steps back, feeling the raw energy and power.

"Oh yes, definitely a tear in the Veil," Anders said, with a repulsed look upon his face. "How in the world does something like that happen?"

"Maybe if we find Kristoff, we find answers," Hawke said. "Come on."

They found another way through the winding paths and the fog only seemed to thicken. Hawke stumbled over a corpse that they were relieved to find was not Kristoff's, just a hurlock. What they did find though, was Kristoff's camp, fire pit, cot and tent, along with his pack and other supplies.

"What do you think, Commander?" Nathaniel asked, picking through it.

"We're not going to get anywhere tonight in this fog," Hawke said. "We'll wait 'til morning to see if it clears and look for Kristoff then." He held out his palm, sending a fireball into the pit. The dried wood crackled and snapped immediately. "Well," he sighed. "Who wants first watch?"


	13. Chapter 13

The fire at least seemed to keep the wolves away. Or perhaps it was because they were close to one of the tears in the Veil. Whatever the reason, Hawke was glad to not have to deal with groups of roving blight-infested creatures or the darkspawn themselves during his watch. Mostly because Nathaniel had insisted they take it in twos. He likely wouldn’t have done so had he realized he was going to draw the short straw and have his watch with Oghren. Hawke at least let him choose if he wanted first or second, and Nathaniel had claimed the tent for his own, stating that if he was going to have to deal with Oghren for hours on his own, he would need a few hours of sleep first. Oghren curled up behind the tent, head on his pack and snoring loudly now.

"Maker if he isn't going to alert the entire marsh to our presence," Anders sighed, shaking his head.

They were sitting on one of Kristoff's blankets in front of the fire, leaning against a rotted out log. Their staves lay by their sides, and it felt all too familiar to Hawke, who'd often camped out along the Wounded Coast or on one of the many hills of the Vimmark Mountains. None of those situations had been nearly as tense or dangerous as this one, but having Anders so close, that was something he was used to. His hand lay on the blanket, mere inches from Anders' and he had to resist entwining their fingers.

"At least you didn't draw a watch with him," Hawke said. "Poor Nathaniel. If we have to spend another night out here I'll stay up with Oghren." Despite everything, the dwarf was growing on him a little.

"If you're sure," Anders said tentatively.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Anders frowned, and Hawke was suddenly worried.

"Well," Anders said carefully, "your reaction earlier."

Hawke looked at him, eyebrow raised. "You can speak frankly, Anders."

Anders rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting Hawke's eye. "Earlier when we were joking about templars. You had a pretty strong reaction. I know Oghren felt bad about making you upset, but… he didn't know. Doesn't know, I think," Anders corrected himself.

"Doesn't know?" Hawke prompted.

"How bad things can get in the Circle," Anders finished. "And I did want to apologize, Commander. Sometimes my mouth runs away without checking my brain first. I just start rambling or joking and I don't think about how other mages might be affected."

"Anders," Hawke said. "You've really lost me."

"Oh I suppose I should be blunt." Anders took a breath. "I never knew that the templars…" He gestured. "Took advantage of you in the Circle. Then again, it's not something one normally advertises. I don't think Oghren put it together, your reaction to his joke. And he won't hear it from me."

Hawke stared at him, mouth slightly open. Oh Maker, Anders actually thought he'd been raped by templars. He needed to set him straight. Even if the Warden had experienced abuses at the hands of the templars, it wasn't his story to tell. If he ever got back to his own body, he didn't want to be the person to have spilled the Hero of Ferelden's deepest, darkest secrets. Especially if they were all falsehoods.

"No," Hawke said. "No, I didn't… it was a friend," he lied easily.

"I'm sorry," Anders said at once.

"Don't be."

Anders frowned. "It's disgusting, you know."

"What?"

"That the Chantry allows it to happen. Complaints get filed and no one lifts a finger. I've seen apprentices scared to walk the halls alone. Even if there's only the slimmest possibility of something happening…" He sighed in frustration.

Hawke saw him now, unguarded. This was how he remembered Anders. Almost too tired, too broken down, but still resolute, still determined. His hand slid over Anders' unconsciously, and Anders looked down, surprised, then up at him questioningly.

"I plan on changing the world for mages," Hawke said.

"You plan on doing the impossible or getting killed in the process," Anders mused.

"Then so be it."

Anders' lips parted and Hawke watched as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing just above the neck of his robes. Not even Oghren's loud snore could interrupt this moment. Hawke leaned in slowly, and Anders closed the distance. His lips were warm and soft, just how Hawke remembered them. Hawke tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth, encouraging Anders to do the same. A tongue flicked out tentatively and Hawke met it eagerly, encouraging. Anders whimpered softly, and Hawke pulled back.

_Shit._

That shouldn't have happened. He shouldn't have kissed Anders. There was nothing in Anders' past about his being with the Warden-Commander. And judging from the intensity of the kiss, the way Anders was looking at him, it was entirely possible that Hawke had just changed the course of history.

"Commander… I…"

Hawke looked away, removing his hand from Anders'.

"It's not a good idea, is it?" Anders asked with a slight laugh. "Stupid, stupid thing."

Hawke frowned. Perhaps Anders already understood. He couldn't tell him the truth. There was the apparent possibility that Anders wouldn't believe him of course. And if he did, well, telling Anders the future was just as dangerous as changing the past, wasn't it?

_Andraste give me strength,_ Hawke prayed, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Thought as much," Anders said. "It's fine, really. We can put it down to my irresistible and charming personality. You clearly couldn't help yourself. No one will blame you for that."

Hawke chuckled weakly. Of course now he'd seen the mask removed, Anders was carefully reconstructing it. It was for the best really, wasn't it? He glanced at Anders, who was staring at the fire. There was a split second where Anders hadn't realized Hawke had turned to look at him. Before the grin was back in place, before the layer of charm and sarcasm returned, he saw Anders for what he was.

A tired, lonely mage in desperate need of a friend.


	14. Chapter 14

The sun never quite reached the Blackmarsh, Hawke was learning. After a few restless hours of sleep and a meager breakfast that left them all more than a little cranky, they started off again. Hawke tried not to glance at Anders but couldn’t help it. He seemed a bit more subdued, but that could've been due to their situation rather than what happened between them last night. He walked ahead with Nathaniel, not bothering to toss his usual jokes, and responded to Nathaniel's concern with flippant assurances.

"Trouble in paradise?" Oghren grumbled, looking at Hawke.

"Leave it."

"That bad, huh, kid?"

While Hawke appreciated the dwarf's concern, he didn't need to be having this conversation with him or with anyone right now. He only hoped it wasn't too late to fix the friendship the Warden-Commander had formed with Anders. While they might not have been romantically entangled, Hawke knew that Anders had at least somewhat fond memories of him. He was about to reply to Oghren, to tell him to back off just this once, when from out of nowhere, something large, grey and wriggling leapt at Nathaniel, knocking him over.

"HELP!" Nathaniel screamed. "OH MAKER, GET IT OFF!!"

Oghren reacted first, swinging wildly with his two-handed axe, catching the thing directly in its midsection, sending it flying. It squealed in pain, lying on its back, short legs flailing. It reminded Hawke of a pillbug, round and fat and curling up until it flopped to its side. He watched in disgusted horror as it righted itself.

"Commander!"

Anders cried out and lit a repulsion glyph at their feet; they were surrounded now, nearly half a dozen of the things. Oghren was pulling Nathaniel to his feet, his leathers having taken most of the blow. Hawke saw they were coated in black oozing slime, but he looked unharmed. Two of the things threw themselves forward and Hawke came to his senses, blasting them back with a fireball. They were relentless, whatever they were, curling up to take the brunt of the magic on their dull carapaces. Oghren's axe at least was able to split them in half, and Hawke resorted to mind blasting them back into the warrior's waiting weapon.

When it was over, they were surrounded by the corpses of the things, and covered in black, vile ooze. Hawke wiped at his face with a sleeve of his robe while Oghren leaned against his axe, panting heavily. Nathaniel stepped forward carefully, retrieving the salvageable arrows.

"A new form of darkspawn?" Anders asked, nudging one with his toe. He jumped back in surprise when it squirted and twitched and he set it on fire out of base instinct.

"Think it's already dead," Oghren grunted.

"It gurgled at me," Anders replied defensively.

"How does something like this happen?" Nathaniel asked, crouching low to look.

"Do darkspawn even breed?" Hawke asked, realizing belatedly that perhaps the Warden-Commander would be the best person in their group to know that answer. Then again, he might never have seen anything like this either.

"Not that I know of," Nathaniel said. "At least, I've never heard any tales. Oghren?"

Oghren grunted. "My kind have been fighting darkspawn since before humans even set foot in Thedas and I ain't never heard of anything like this." He gave the thing at his feet a resounding kick with his plated foot.

"Great. A new strain of darkspawn and they look like creepy little worms with legs," Anders sighed. "Brilliant. I don't know about you all but that's exactly how I wanted to start my day."

"Come on," Hawke said. "Let's keep moving."

They didn't have far to go. Just up the hill they saw a corpse that definitely wasn't a darkspawn. Hawke saw the Grey Warden armor, the man's sunken eyes. He frowned, kneeling.

"This must be Kristoff then," he said with a sigh. While there was precious little hope of finding him alive, it was disappointing to see that he was right.

He was about to suggest they spread out to look for any other information when the bushes rustled. Hawke got to feet immediately, staff in hand. Several darkspawn emerged, but didn't attack on sight. He felt Anders at his back, saw Nathaniel in his peripheral vision, drawing the string on his bow.

"The Grey Warden."

Hawke turned on his heel to see a large, hulking darkspawn, head and shoulders above the average hurlock, grey and mottled skin drawn tightly over its bones. It wore crude chainmail armor and lacked lips, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. To Hawke's credit, he didn't wet himself. His companions were packed in tightly around him, all of them in fighting stance, all ready to attack on the given command.

"The Mother told it to me that if he was lured to this place and slain, that in time you would come," the darkspawn hissed. "And the Mother she was right. The Mother is always right."

Hawke swallowed hard. "Who is this 'mother'?"

"Broodmother?" Oghren grunted.

_Oh. Oh shit._

Hawke heard about the broodmother from Anders, though only briefly. His lover hadn't wanted to talk about, and he remembered the look of revulsion and terror on his face when he refused to go into detail. If that's what this darkspawn was talking about… well of course Hawke would have to face it. It was part of Anders' past and therefore, unavoidable.

"The Mother is she that sent me, she that wished you to come. To here, this place."

"And who are you?" Hawke asked, though he didn't expect the darkspawn to have a name.

"I… here before you is the First, and I am bringing to you a message."

Hawke somehow didn't think the darkspawn's idea of "First" and the Dalish's were exactly the same.

"The Mother, she is not permitting you to further **his** plan, whether this you know or not. So she is sending you a gift."

The darkspawn around them shifted in excited anticipation, half a dozen at least, growling and clicking their knife-like teeth. Hawke raised his staff as the First raised his fist. A greenish-black ball of energy emitted from his palm. Before any of them had time to react, the ball exploded in a blinding flash of light and Hawke felt himself being yanked away, tugged off his feet, and thrown head first, hurtling into the Veil.


	15. Chapter 15

Nathaniel was on his feet first, pulling Anders upright. Hawke groaned, wincing at the bruised feeling. It seemed they hadn't moved, but the Blackmarsh had. The air around them was lighter, the imposing, oppressive, always-present darkness had faded to a sunny though muted afternoon. But something was very, very wrong. Hawke had been here before, mostly in dreams but once voluntarily to save a boy's life.

"The Fade."

Nathaniel made a disparaging noise and quickly threw out an arm, pushing Hawke back. Hawke was momentarily confused, then saw. The First had been pulled into the Fade as well, along with his entourage of darkspawn. Thankfully though, he seemed to be as confused as they were, looking around. He let out a low, frustrated growl.

"NO! The Mother she has deceived me! I am betrayed!"

Hawke raised his staff, not eager to be in the presence of a semi-intelligent, sentient darkspawn with Mommy issues. It babbled a bit, turning to look at its brethren.

"Time to go," Hawke muttered, pulling them away.

"No," the First said again, turning back to them. "You will be learning a lesson, Grey Warden. You and the Mother both! I will be leaving you to the Children!"

In the flurry of attack that followed, Hawke quickly lost sight of the hulking darkspawn. They were set upon by a half dozen more of those things – Children. A disturbing name for a disturbing creature. And Hawke had no inclination to find out exactly how these things were bred from the Mother. 

"Andraste's tits," Hawke swore as the last one fell. "Just one day, just one bloody day I'd like to have that's completely ordinary and boring. Just wake up, have some tea, take the dog for a walk and not end up in the Fade or besieged by darkspawn or giant spiders or-"

Anders gripped his shoulder, and Hawke forced himself to calm down. Having a breakdown now would do them no favors and for better or worse he was still their commander. In Kirkwall he'd set himself up to be the de facto leader of their little gang, but there was more of an equal footing. His friends would help him, would listen to him, but they were under no obligation to stay. Isabela made that clear when she'd run off with the Tome of Koslun. She'd come back, but had she not, there was not a damn thing he could've done about it. These weren't his friends, not really. They were his soldiers.

He was extremely unprepared to lead them into battle. And what if he got them all killed? What if he made the wrong call and someone died? What if Anders died? The course of history would be changed forever. It was funny to think that so small a life could have such a great impact on the world in general. If Anders wasn't there to give them the maps to the Deep Roads, would they make it through? Would they die down there? Or would they simply just be stuck in Gamlen's hovel?

This was neither the time nor the place to be having an existential crisis, Hawke knew. He pulled himself together.

"We need to figure out how to get out of here," Hawke sighed. "Let's see what we can find."

They trekked tentatively up the hill, and Nathaniel looked around.

"This… this is what the town must have looked like before."

"Maybe we can ask a friendly spirit for directions and then be on our way, hm?" Anders suggested.

"Strictly speaking," Hawke said, running a hand through his hair, wincing as he felt some of the slimy goo from the Children's blood, "only our minds are here. Our bodies are still in the real world."

"So what happens if a wolf starts chewing on our heads?" Oghren asked.

"Then we're stuck here forever," Anders supplied.

There was a very quiet, pregnant pause as that thought settled in.

"Let's move more quickly then," Nathaniel said quietly, and they hurried forward without another word.

Hawke never much liked being in the Fade. It felt like a waking dream. Though he could mostly control his dreams while he slept, learning how to block his mind from demons, how to avoid taking deals, being in the Fade consciously was something he'd hoped never to have to experience again. It made his head ache and his thoughts cloudy. The fact that the Chantry actively pushed young mages into doing it when they might not be ready was, in his opinion, one of the crueler things they could do. Even the name of the ritual – the Harrowing – was disgusting. They knew what they were putting the mages through and yet they still did it.

And the punishment for failure was death.

"Demons," Anders said, as they came to the top of a hill.

Three desire demons flitting about an altar. The greenish-black flame-like curtain danced around them, and Hawke had a curious realization.

"They're breaking open the Veil, it looks like," he said quietly.

"Well then we're just going to have to stop them," Oghren said, gripping his axe.

Hawke was inclined to agree. Fighting demons in the Fade was somewhat different from fighting them in the real world. It took a lot of power to bring a demon through, and when they were possessing someone they were almost always more powerful. The more powerful the person, the more powerful the demon abomination. After they felled the three demons and cut down a handful of shades that dared appeared, they looked at the altar.

"Smash it?" Hawke suggested, and looked to Oghren.

They all stepped back and Oghren brought his axe high over his head in an arc, bringing it down onto the stone. It shattered in a burst of energy, throwing them backward off their feet. Hawke lay dazed for a moment, looking up at the oddly colored sky, breathing heavily. Anders' face appeared in his vision, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"All right there, Commander?" he asked, offering a hand. "We ought to stop meeting like this."

Hawke took his hand, groaning as he got to his feet. "Yeah," he said, feeling aches in places he never knew existed on his body. "I'm just… starting to re-think this whole Grey Warden thing."

"Could be worse," Anders said optimistically.

"How?"

Anders was silent a moment. "Ah. You could be in the Fade without me and my charming personality to keep you company. Eh? Eh?" he said, nudging him.

Nathaniel scowled. "We're wasting time."

Hawke watched him stalk away, Oghren in tow. Anders grinned, winking at Hawke as he followed. Though he'd only meant it in a joking manner, Hawke found himself agreeing.

Without Anders, this entire journey would have been a lot worse.


	16. Chapter 16

"The Baroness? Do they have royalty in the Fade?"

The question came from Anders, but no one had an answer. They'd followed a random, lonely soul down into the depths of a crypt, Nathaniel pointing out quite matter-of-factly that they were walking into a trap. Prepared for that, the ensuing fights left them more energized than winded. But when the soul in the guise of a woman made mention that she would feed on their remains once the Baroness was done with them, it left them all a little ill at ease.

"Halt!"

Hawke looked up. A man in the uniform of a guard. A spirit? But he looked solid, like them. So what was he? He certainly didn't feel like a mage.

"Who enters the Blackmarsh?"

"We're Grey Wardens," Hawke offered, hoping the title gained them respect. "Trapped here."

The guard frowned and his tone turned sympathetic. "Trapped? Then you're just as we are, locked in an endless nightmare."

Hawke listened to the explanation provided, letting the guard lead them further into the city. The Baroness was punishing them, trapping them, the entire city. They came to stop in front of a large group of people gathered outside a mansion. He recognized it, though in the real world it was crumbling and broken down. He heard the shouting of the people, screaming to be let free.

"This Baroness enslaved these people," Nathaniel said, an edge of anger to his tone. "This is what must have happened to the villagers. The disappearances."

At the front of the mob was an incorporeal figure, light blue and wispy, wearing full plate and calling up to the house. "The mansion will not protect you, fiend! Come out and face your crime!"

Hawke froze, a sudden pang of anxiety gripping him, holding him in place. He knew that voice.

The spirit turned around, eyeing them warily. "And who comes now? More minions of hers?"

"Watch who you're calling a minion, Smoky," Oghren growled.

"He's a spirit of Justice," Hawke said, and his companions looked at him curiously.

"Indeed I am," Justice replied. "But that does not answer the question of who you are."

"Grey Wardens," Nathaniel offered, when it was clear that Hawke wasn't going to respond. "We can help. We're trapped here as well, looking for a way out."

"Most of these people have lost their bodies, they've been trapped here by her evil magic for so long," Justice supplied. "But their souls deserve freedom. If we subdue her, I will force her to submit to justice and make her pay for her crimes, and release you back into your world."

"It really is our best shot," Anders said. "I think we should go for it."

_I need to keep Justice away from Anders._ Hawke's first instinct was to protect his lover. And while Justice seemed somewhat rational here in the Fade, Hawke had seen that spirit rip apart a man as easily as one would tear through tissue paper. He'd seen Anders lose control again and again as the spirit of Justice consumed his soul, turning them both into a force of vengeance. He couldn't allow that to happen. But before he could decline, to tell Justice that they would find another way out, Oghren was speaking.

"Let's get this show on the road, then. Less talky, more killy. Break down the doors!"

Hawke wasn't able to stop it. The gates were stormed, the Baroness called out. And with her, appropriately, was the First. He focused now on the fight, not the inevitable. Maybe things would be different now that he was here. He could somehow force Justice back into the Fade after this was over. Knowing what was coming, he dreaded the moment the fighting ended, bracing himself for the kick of magic that would drop them back into the real world and out of the Fade. A bright flash of blinding light, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the Baroness bled the First to fuel her spell.

He was curled up on his side, head resting on someone's chest. A groan, and he realized it was Anders.

"You know," he said, sounding pained, "normally I expect someone to buy me dinner first before they fu-"

"Kristoff?" Nathaniel's voice interrupted Anders.

Hawke sat up, helping Anders to rights as well. A burst of healing energy flowed from Anders' fingertips first into his own skull, then he did the same for Hawke without question. Hawke felt instantly better, but gave Anders a confused look. Anders frowned, then shrugged before getting to his feet. Hawke did as well, pushing down Oghren's axe.

"Don't."

"It's a bloody corpse, Commander," Oghren spat. "And it's moving. Usually that's grounds enough for removing its head."

"What?" Kristoff muttered. "Where am I? What is happening?"

Hawke bristled. The voice was deep, reverberating. "He's Justice."

"No!" Justice shouted with horrid realization. "This is the world of mortals, beyond the Veil!" He looked down at his body, touching his chest and then lifting his hands to his face. "This is a mortal body of flesh! I am trapped within!"

Hawke didn't think the Warden-Commander would have felt such glee at the confusion and frustration in Justice's voice. For all the suffering that Justice put Anders through, he felt a sweet twinge of vindication. And dare he say it – his own justice? He pressed his lips together tightly to keep from smirking, and looked down in effort to make sure the others didn't see the utter delight he was feeling. He knew it was wrong to be so pleased, but Maker help him, he didn't care.

"The witch must have sundered the Veil in her haste," Justice said, turning to look at them.

"How is that possible?" Anders asked.

"The Veil was already weakened and torn," Nathaniel reminded him. "The altars. We crushed them, but that might not have fully reversed the damage."

Hawke left them to argue the finer points of the Veil and what the Baroness might have done and whether or not she was here as well.

"The tears must be repaired," Justice insisted. "I can alter your weapons for a time in order to drive back the Fade's magic. But we must move swiftly."

"I really don't like the idea of open doors allowing demons to just waltz into this world," Oghren said. "It's not technically in the job description but…"

"It must be done," Hawke agreed.

As much as he disliked the idea of having Justice so close to Anders, he couldn't be responsible for allowing demons to enter freely from the Fade. As they started off in a likely direction, Justice casting a spell to augment their weapons, Hawke wondered if there was a sane way to tell the Fade spirit to stay away from Anders or else.


	17. Chapter 17

Hawke hated pride demons. They were far and beyond the most powerful demons he'd ever encountered, and he'd drained his mana pool trying to kill the one that inhabited the Baroness. But as he was unharmed, simply exhausted, Anders had moved first to Oghren who was bleeding in more places than one. Hawke lay on his back in the dirt of a burned out, broken down house, head resting on Nathaniel's pack, a skin of water at his side in case he needed it. They were out of lyrium potions, and a ransacking of the other derelict houses revealed only elfroot and poisons.

"The dwarf will live," Justice said, ducking into the doorway, looking down at him.

"He's too stubborn to die," Hawke groaned. His head ached and he was sore, and the only thing he wanted was to sleep forever.

"Does death in the mortal world work that way?"

Hawke sighed. "No. It's an expression."

"I see."

There was silence for a moment. Hawke glanced over at him, trying to find sympathy for the lost looking corpse that filled the doorway. The armor they'd found on the revenants, no doubt a set from a warrior they'd feasted upon, was sleek and black and impressive-looking. And it fit Kristoff's body perfectly so Justice had donned it. It was a good thing too because he made a hell of a warrior.

The spirit of a warrior inside Anders' body.

"Did you want something, Justice?"

"No. Only… I am not sure what to do now. This man, Kristoff, he was a Grey Warden. I do not know what that means."

"We-" and it was a testament to how long Hawke had been in this body that he didn't say 'they' "-fight darkspawn."

Justice mulled this over. "Yes. I see. There are many more darkspawn. Including this… this mother that was spoken of."

Hawke hated those sunken, milky eyes looking at him for approval. He could tell Justice no, to piss off. To find another corpse to haunt or to take this one and go away. To leave Anders alone. Maybe it was the sadness in the twisted expression. Something that hadn't looked quite so natural on that face.

"Then stay and fight with us," Hawke heard himself saying.

The expression softened. "Yes. To take up this man's cause. To fight against the darkspawn that took his life. That would be just."

"Commander?"

Justice moved out of the way and Nathaniel leaned in. Hawke's gaze slid to him.

"Are you doing all right, Commander?"

"Fine," Hawke said. "Just… needing rest. Oghren?"

"He will live," Nathaniel confirmed. "We're going to set watches. With the impending rain, we won't be able to build a fire."

Hawke looked up at the holes in the roof. They wouldn't be able to patch it in time, which meant either trying to trek back to Kristoff's camp which was in the opposite direction they wanted to go to get out of the marsh, or stay here in the rain. A flash of lightning lit the sky behind the broken roof. A few seconds later it was followed by a crack of thunder.

"We'll make do," Hawke said.

"Perhaps… Justice," Nathaniel said, "can help me with the roof while we have the time. There are several heavy canvas sheets covering the stores by the docks."

Hawke waved a hand, too tired to argue the point or make alterations for the plan. Nathaniel nodded and pulled Justice away. If he'd actually been the Warden-Commander, Hawke would've promoted Nathaniel on the spot. Did he have the power to do that? He supposed he did, considering. He'd have to talk it over with Varel and Woolsey. It wasn't the first time that Hawke was grateful for the rogue and his quick thinking. He'd rolled over to his side, wishing for his soft bed in Hightown when the door was occupied once more.

"Ah, Nate told me you were asleep. He lied."

Anders. And was it 'Nate' now? Hawke tried to stem the curl of jealousy in his chest. "He did."

"But he did say you were alive, so one out of two isn't bad."

Anders moved in, kneeling next to him. There was a thumping on the roof and what little light came through was blocked out as Nathaniel and Justice worked to give them some shelter. Hawke pushed away the hand that came upon his forehead.

"I'm fine, just mana reserves," he assured Anders.

"You push too hard, you'll make yourself sick. Just because you took down an archdemon doesn't mean you should go draining yourself to kill others."

"It was just a pride demon," Hawke argued.

He'd never been on this side of the argument. Some days he found Anders in his clinic too tired to do anything but lie on the cot, spent from a night of healing the sick and wounded. Or he'd be up all night working on his manifesto or aiding in the underground. One time, Hawke had even dragged Anders from his cot upstairs to his estate and locked him in the bedroom to keep him from leaving. Just one night, he begged Anders. Just one night of restful sleep and a good breakfast in the morning.

"Still. You're no good to us dead."

Hawke allowed the hand on his forehead this time, Anders brushing back his hair, pushing in little jolts of healing energy. He was barely bruised, but it was soothing and warm. Yawning widely, he snuggled closer instinctively, pressing his face to Anders' thigh. Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around him and held on tightly.

"Anders," he muttered, half asleep.

"Yes, Commander?"

"No," Hawke sighed.

"Er, no?"

_Call me Hawke_ was what he wanted to say, but was already asleep, the rain starting to beat quietly against the patched roof.


	18. Chapter 18

It was a difficult thing to try to explain to Varel about Kristoff. It was even worse when Kristoff's wife Aura came to call upon him. Hawke begrudgingly agreed that they would seek her out in Amaranthine the next time they were. Unfortunately, as there seemed to be a mountain of paperwork awaiting his return and a few dozen people seeking his attention, not to mention the work the Vigil herself was in need of, the trip would have to be postponed for a while. 

He found himself severely missing his normal routine in Kirkwall, rising for a simple breakfast, checking his mail, reading up on the news and then having the day to himself if there were no other pressing matters. Supper either in his estate or bringing something down to Anders in the clinic before they retired together. Sleeping alone was difficult, and he tossed and turned until frustration drove him from bed.

It was cold in the Vigil, and Hawke was starting to appreciate the thick robes he'd been provided from the Warden-Commander's wardrobe. He never would've worn them himself as a mage in Hightown. Though he wasn't ashamed of his status, flaunting it wasn't a good idea. Meredith could decide at any moment she no longer felt like keeping him as a pet. He left off the leather pauldrons and belt, and slipped out of his room. 

The Vigil at night was preferable to the day. Too many servants bustling around, guards clanking through the halls. And of course, people greeting him, talking to him, smiling at him. Not that he minded it, not really, but it was unnerving. Though he was the Champion of Kirkwall and somewhat respected, he was still a mage, still someone to be wary of. The Hero of Ferelden commanded a bit more respect, especially in his home country where so many were affected by the Blight. Not only was he these people's saviors, he was their arl. While Hawke appreciated the power, the responsibility didn't sit right with him. It was one thing to look after friends and family, but to make sure his banns had enough protection, enough food?

"Shh! You'll wake the whole of the keep."

Hawke frowned. He knew the voice, would know Anders' voice anywhere. Sliding back into an alcove, he listened. What was Anders up to?

"I- I would not be so loud if you- mmph!"

And that was Nathaniel. And he heard… kissing. Hawke leaned slightly to peer around the alcove. Down the hall, under a still-lit torch, Anders had pressed Nathaniel against the stone wall and was kissing him, nimble fingers working the rogue's tunic. Nathaniel's hands were gripping his shoulders. Both seemed eager, enthusiastic. Hawke felt his heart break. Pinpricks of jealousy flared along his spine and he fought the urge to interrupt them. To force them to stop. But what right did he have? Anders wasn't his, not here.

"Damnable mage," Nathaniel gasped as Anders broke the kiss.

"Yes, I've been called that before."

Hawke ducked back into the alcove. A door opened, a shuffling of feet, and then the sound of a door closing. He peered out again; the hall was empty. Slowly, carefully he walked toward the door of Nathaniel's room, listening. It was quiet until he reached just outside it.

"Nothing wrong with a fling," Anders was saying. "Hold still."

"It's been a while."

"Good thing I've practiced enough for the both of us."

"Shut up, Anders," Nathaniel growled.

The sounds of kissing followed. Hawke knew he shouldn't listen. It was giving him no pleasure to stand here with his ear nearly pressed to the door, listening to his lover with another man. He'd never desired to share Anders. Years of pining for him, of finally being able to call Anders his, and he wanted it to stay that way. He'd always been slightly and possibly irrationally jealous of Anders' former lovers including Isabela, who liked to flaunt the fact that they'd been together in Hawke's face. She'd even asked several times to join in.

"I thought perhaps, the Commander-"

Hawke perked up at hearing his borrowed title. There was silence for a moment.

"There's nothing there," Anders said. "Besides, authority? Who wants to get involved with _that_?"

He recognized the flippancy. It was a defense mechanism that Anders still used, despite the carefully crafted mask of sarcasm having slipped quite a bit. He missed Nathaniel's response, muffled as it was, and left, unwilling to get caught listening at the door like a perverted lecher. Heart heavy, head full, and a stack of papers that needed looking over, he walked back to his quarters.

"Commander, I would speak with you."

Hawke jumped in surprise, turning, ready to hurl a fireball. He took a breath when he realized it was only Justice. "Don't you ever sleep?"

Justice tilted his head. "Sleep is unnecessary. It is a foreign concept to spirits, and this body has no need of rest."

"No," Hawke muttered, "no I suppose it wouldn't. Come in," he offered, holding the door open for Justice and following him inside.

He lit the fireplace, filling the room with warmth and settled at his desk, gesturing to the chair opposite. Justice carefully took a seat, sitting upright, hands in his lap. Maker, he was so formal. Hawke slumped, not caring that he looked unprofessional. It was well past midnight and he didn't think Justice gave one whit about proper manners anyway.

"What's on your mind?" Hawke asked, hoping it wasn't another crisis about the morality of inhabiting a corpse.

"It is a delicate matter, and I'd wanted to address it earlier but I didn't want to cause you embarrassment."

"Huh?" Not the most eloquent thing Hawke could have said, but the statement was confusing. Embarrassment? Over what?

"I presume you're keeping it a secret for a reason, but it is unjust that you are keeping it from the others."

Hawke massaged his temples slowly. "Justice."

"Your soul is shared. Though it does not feel like a spirit or demon."

His eyes flicked open and he looked at Justice, feeling slightly panicked. "What?"

"I sense two beings within you. Normally that would indicate you are in throes of possession. However, I sense no demonic entity nor kindred spirits such as myself."

Oh Maker, Justice knew he wasn't the actual Warden-Commander. Hawke had been working hard to keep it under wraps, avoiding any personal conversations with Oghren, especially ones involving Morrigan, and keeping any correspondence with King Alistair to an absolute minimum. Other than those two, no one at the Vigil had really known the Hero of Ferelden. It was his hope that when or if he returned to his own body, his own time, the Warden-Commander would not suffer too great a personality change.

"I… I have no idea what happened," Hawke admitted. He would have to come clean, he supposed. Hopefully he could convince the spirit that it was in everyone's best interests that they keep this a secret. "I was dying and when I opened my eyes, I ended up in this body."

"You should remove yourself."

Hawke scowled. "If I knew how, I would, trust me. No one wants me to go back to my own body as much as I do."

"If I knew a way, I would assist you."

"That's…" It was unexpected is what it was. Justice seemed so level-headed. Confused, perhaps a little wary at being ripped from his home, but calm. He felt empathy for the spirit, and that irritated him. It was easier to hate the spirit that shared his lover's soul, that left Anders with blank spots in his memory. That took him over in anger. But now, being in a similar situation, he thought perhaps he understood Anders' reasoning for inviting the spirit into him. "Thank you, Justice. But for now I think I'd rather just keep this between us."

"I believe I understand, though lying to your companions is a cruel and-"

"I know. But it's complicated. I… I know Anders in the future," he said carefully. "I'd rather he not find out. Changing the course of a predestined future…"

Justice mulled this over, and eventually nodded. "The decision you make is not a selfish one. I… appreciate that about you. I will keep your secret." He stood; apparently the conversation was over.

"Thank you," Hawke said, and watched Justice let himself out.

He sighed, sitting up, rubbing his face with both hands. There would be no way he'd be getting back to sleep, so instead he took up his latest correspondence and began to write.


	19. Chapter 19

The days grew shorter with the approaching winter, yet Hawke was more comfortable out of the Vigil than in it. Their ranks increased with the addition of a Dalish elf (and Hawke now understood why Anders cited that all Dalish women were crazy) and a dwarf from the Legion of the Dead. Hawke made a mental note to ask Varric about that when or if he ever returned to his own body and time. He was starting to despair of that as days turned to weeks. Voldrik demanded money and materials and soldiers. The banns demanded protection. Wade was driving Herren mad with his demands for better crafting material and in return, Herren was passing that irritation on to Hawke.

It was worse than being the Champion. In addition to his Grey Warden duties, there were his arl duties. And when a riot broke out, several dozen peasants at his gate demanding his time and attention, Hawke was hard pressed not to let Garevel imprison and slaughter the whole lot. After settling the rabble-rousers and dealing with the conspiracists, Hawke decided he needed a break. Unfortunately the Maker or whatever force in the universe was controlling this little jaunt into the past had a delightful sense of humor.

And that's how he found himself locked in a cell in just his smallclothes by a sentient, intelligent darkspawn with a master plan.

"I just… really don't like caves and tunnels," Anders said, somewhat apologetically, knees drawn up to his chest, hugging them tightly.

At least they were together.

Hawke should have really seen it coming. Any of them should have, but he blamed himself. And now in this small, dark room, Hawke found himself trying to comfort Anders, who was in turn trying not have a panic attack.

"I was almost all right in the Deep Roads," Anders said. "When we closed off that passage."

The less Hawke thought about the possessed corpse of an ogre commander in the tunnels under the Vigil, the better.

"It was open and light. There were torches, you know? And we weren't so far underground, not really. This… this is…"

It was rather ominous. There was only a small window on the door and a dim light at the end of the hall. Hawke had tried looking out, but decided against it when he saw shadows moving in the halls. Darkspawn? Children? Or worse…

The cell was pitch black, only a pile of hay to sit upon. Hawke was pressed against Anders, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. He could have moved to the other side of the cell, given Anders some space, but the other mage seemed disinclined to let him move. When he'd tried, Anders grabbed his wrist and held him tightly.

"At least I'm not alone," Anders said. "I'm glad I left Ser Pounce-a-lot at the Vigil this time. Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot. If I die, hopefully Varel can watch over him. He seems like a cat person. Do you think they would've hurt my cat? Maybe used him for some ominous experimentation… "

"The Architect?"

"Can cats even carry the taint?"

And Hawke realized these questions were rhetorical. He let Anders babble.

"I mean it seems a little ridiculous. But wouldn't that be a novelty? A Grey Warden cat. We should get him a little sword and shield, don't you think? It would look fetching. Perhaps a hat and boots."

Hawke recalled a conversation Merrill had tried to have with Anders about Ser Pounce-a-lot regarding this very thing. He didn't smile, though it had been funny at the time. Instead, he slid his arm around Anders' shoulders and held him tightly. Anders leaned against him.

"A year," he muttered.

"Don't go to that place," Hawke urged him. "We're not there. And Nathaniel will get us out."

The last thing he remembered before he'd fallen was the rogue disappearing into the shadows. He would definitely have to speak to Varel about getting Nathaniel promoted. He was proving to be an invaluable companion, despite his relationship with Anders. Jealousy was unbecoming of him, and this was neither the time nor the place for it.

"Talk to me about something," Anders pleaded.

"About what?" Hawke asked gently, unable to keep himself from pressing his lips to the top of Anders' head.

"Anything to keep my mind off this," Anders said, his face in Hawke's chest now, trying to keep his breathing even.

Hawke racked his brain. "Ferelden in the spring," he said suddenly.

"What about it?" Anders sounded confused.

"Your hair. It's always smelled like Ferelden in the spring."

Anders let out a shaky laugh. "Should I be flattered or worried that you've smelled my hair?"

"I'm not a pervert," Hawke said defensively. "Besides, it's practically in my face right now." He'd always liked the smell, the memories it brought back. He had hoped to return home someday, though not exactly in this way. But after the Blight, to go back to a farm, to raise a family. Only now his fantasies included having Anders by his side. But he couldn't tell him that now, not without a lot of awkward explanations.

"More's the pity," Anders muttered.

He looked up, and in the darkness, Hawke saw his eyes, round and fearful. He was shaking slightly, and Hawke gave him a gentle squeeze.

"We never talked about what happened. In the Blackmarsh," Anders said suddenly.

"Baroness possessed by a pride demon. Really creepy derelict town. Shattered parts of the Veil. Not something I really want to revisit," Hawke said offhandedly and evasively, even though he knew exactly what Anders was talking about.

"I'm the only one who's allowed to be flippant," Anders argued.

"You'll get used to those disappointments," Hawke jested lightly.

A warm hand moved to his thigh, and Hawke's breathing hitched.

"I don't think I ever thanked you," Anders whispered.

"Thanked me?" Hawke's voice was quiet, but thankfully steady.

"For saving me from the Circle. For helping me look for my phylactery. For all of it. I thought I was trading one prison for another, but being in the Wardens has been… more than tolerable. I mean, fighting darkspawn and running errands and getting captured and tossed in a cell isn't too much fun. But the rest of it. I can walk past a city guard or a templar and not have to worry about them clapping me in irons and dragging me back to the tower. It's… it's as close as I'll ever get to having actual freedom, I suppose. Don't you agree? Being a mage and all?"

"It has its perks," Hawke agreed. "I could do without the paperwork."

Anders chuckled, his breath warm across Hawke's throat. He felt the press of lips to his skin, and groaned.

"Please, Commander," Anders whispered. "It doesn't have to… it doesn't have to mean anything. I just need a distraction right now."

He could surrender to this, to Anders' mouth, his tongue which was now dragging along his collar bone. The fingers on his thigh flexed and moved upward slowly. Instinctively he spread his legs. It was familiar, this feeling, being curled up with Anders, submitting to him. He was, if nothing else, a very attentive and extremely skilled lover. So long as Anders didn't fall in love with the Warden-Commander, it would be all right.

Wouldn't it?

"Yes," he whispered, no longer able to resist.

Anders pressed him back against the pile of hay, fingers sliding up his thigh, over his groin. He gasped, the feather-light touches against his smalls igniting his arousal. He lifted his hands to Anders' hair and grunted in frustration as Anders took his wrists, pushing them back.

"No," Anders said. "Let me."

"I want to touch you," Hawke complained.

"Not now. Next time."

And as Anders' mouth descended upon his own, Hawke's guilt at taking advantage of the situation quickly fled.


	20. Chapter 20

There was a bit of a celebration after their escape, Nathaniel pulling Oghren from his cell first. They found Anders and Hawke curled together, the former turning in embarrassment at their nudity and precarious position while the latter merely wolf-whistled. Outfitted in misshapen armor and two dead dragons later, Hawke had been glad to get back to the Vigil on one piece. Neither Nathaniel nor Oghren spoke of what they'd seen, and Hawke was grateful for it. He talked with Varel about ranks and received a, 'They're your men, Commander,' in return. He wrote to Weisshaupt in order to make their promotions official, figuring it was the right thing to do.

As for Anders, he flitted from Hawke to Nathaniel, though more the latter than the former. A painful, frank discussion was had when they returned to Vigil's Keep regarding the nature of their relationship. Strictly physical, and very private. Hawke convinced himself it was for the best, that the Warden-Commander couldn't be seen taking advantage of those in his ranks. Anders was much more open and affectionate with Nathaniel in public, and it was popular gossip around the Vigil that the two were an item. Neither man did anything to dispel the rumor, though Anders was quick to let Hawke know that neither he nor Nathaniel held each other to the typical monogamous standards of a relationship. Despite this, he was still jealous.

Hawke did his best not to worry about the implications of any of this, tried not to think about what it might mean for the future. Though one night when he heard Nathaniel and Anders talking to Justice about spirit possession, he caught a snippet of conversation that forced him to make a conscious decision about altering their futures. He simply had to.

"What if you found a living body to possess?" Nathaniel asked.

They were in the commons, Nathaniel trying to teach Anders how to play chess. Justice sat in an armchair close by. Hawke was across the room settled on a couch, writing desk in his lap, trying to balance a budget on less coin than he had to spend. He had no idea how Woolsey made a sovereign stretch so far. The question made him stop scratching with his quill, however, and he eavesdropped.

"Even if I knew how, I would not. Such is an act for demons."

Justice sounded angry, insulted that Nathaniel would suggest such a thing. Hawke wondered what had transpired that caused Justice to change his mind and eventually join with Anders.

"What if the person were willing?" Nathaniel pressed.

"How can a bishop be so powerful?" Anders scowled. "Is it some sort of symbolism for the Chantry?"

Nathaniel chuckled. "No, I don't think the creators of the game had that in mind when they made it. Also, bishops move diagonally. That's an illegal move."

"Too many rules," Anders complained.

"Why would a mortal ever allow such a thing?" Justice asked. "Demons make false promises of power and wealth. A spirit would never do that."

"For life?" Nathaniel offered. "For love? Perhaps together, you can do what they cannot do alone."

Hawke frowned. It was almost as if Nathaniel knew. Anders had offered his body, his soul to Justice so that Justice could have a chance to live. They were going to undertake the cause for mages, to set them free, to fight oppression. Where had it all gone wrong?

"If you gave instead of taking," Nathaniel said, looking over at Justice, "I would consider you no demon."

"Is that checkmate?" Anders asked, moving his queen. "That is, isn't it?"

Nathaniel sighed and captured the piece with his rook. "Now it is," he said.

"Blast it all," Anders scowled. "Can't we just play a hand of Wicked Grace?"

"You still owe me thirty silver from the last round," Nathaniel said lightly. He looked at Justice. "All right?"

"I… I must think on what you said," Justice replied. "Thank you, Nathaniel."

Hawke watched Justice stand and take his leave. Nathaniel cleared the chessboard and set the pieces up again. Anders sighed, shoulders slumped, but didn't argue. Making up his mind, Hawke set the writing desk aside and followed Justice. Since the spirit didn't need to sleep, he'd taken to roaming the halls at night. If not for the fact that he was also seen during the day, and was quite polite for a walking corpse, rumors of a haunting might have flooded the Vigil. As it was, the guards knew him well, and treated him with respect. Justice had even taken to training a few of them in the art of combat.

"Justice."

He turned, inclining his head a bit. "Commander."

"I was wondering if I could have a word with you in private."

"Yes, of course," Justice said, following him now to the Commander's quarters.

Once inside, Hawke gestured to the couch, and remained standing, pacing as Justice sat.

"You… have a lot on your mind. Your other mind. The active one," Justice offered.

"It's about the conversation you had with Nathaniel," Hawke replied, deciding the direct approach was the best way.

"About my possessing a living being?"

"Don't do it."

Justice frowned, apparently confused by the abrupt order. Hawke stopped pacing, coming to stand in front of him. He looked down at the twisted features, the rotting flesh, the smell of which was masked heavily by some potion Anders managed to concoct, in addition to copious amounts of wildflowers tucked into the armor.

"You join with Anders and neither of you comes out the better for it."

"You idiot!" Justice hissed, getting to his feet. "We had decided not to talk of the future in order to preserve it! You cannot simply-"

Hawke stepped up into his personal space, and not for the first time he hated how short the Warden-Commander was. When tales were told of the Hero of Ferelden, he did indeed sound ten feet tall. Hawke doubted he was more than five and a half. Justice loomed over him, looking down, milky eyes narrowed in anger.

"If I have to pull rank, I will, Warden," Hawke said quietly.

"You have no authority over me. Kristoff was the Warden, not I. And you are no commander, merely the soul that's riding his body."

"You have to listen to me, Justice," Hawke said, changing tact. Leave it to the spirit to find a way to defy him. "If you join-"

Justice held up a hand. "Enough! I will hear no more of this. A decision has not been made. If Anders wishes-"

"Then you say no. Please." He had to stop it now before it happened. If he could save Anders from the pain of having this spirit embody his soul, he had to take that chance. "His anger will warp you. You'll become a force of vengeance."

Justice frowned. The proclamation touched a nerve.

_"Demons are spirits perverted by their desires."_

_"I'm sorry, Justice." Anders sounded horribly repentant. "I never meant to imply that you'd become a demon."_

_"I should hope not."_

"Just… think about what I said. Please," Hawke urged again.

"I… I will, mortal."

"Dismissed," Hawke sighed, knowing he wasn't likely to be able to continue this conversation level-headedly.

Justice left, Hawke shutting the door firmly behind him. He only hoped it would be enough. Even if it meant completely altering the course of their lives, even if it meant that he would no longer be with Anders, at least he'd done what he could to keep the man he loved safe.


	21. Chapter 21

He'd fought darkspawn and demons, exploded giant spiders and dragonlings. Hawke was hard pressed to come up with an enemy that truly terrified him. Then, of course, he met the broodmother. He understood why Anders refused to talk about it, especially understood why he had such violent nightmares. There were horrors in his past that far superseded any fantastical creature that Varric could remotely dream up. Anders didn't need stories; he'd seen the things first hand.

"Commander, no! Don't be dead…"

Hawke coughed, a blackish ooze spurting from his lips. Anders knelt next to him, and the situation seemed altogether too familiar to him. He'd shoved Anders out of the way of a blast of foul magic, taking the hit himself. He only hoped Anders wouldn't blame himself.

"This is where I die," he croaked out.

"No!"

Nathaniel was hunched over, clutching a wound in his side, Oghren rifling through his pack for a healing poultice. Hawke saw this, saw the destruction beyond them. The corpses of the darkspawn that littered the area. He was fighting now just to stay conscious, and turned to look back at the worried, tear-filled eyes above him.

"Anders… I'm sorry."

Anders was pouring the last of his mana into healing Hawke. Hawke felt his lungs burning, breathing becoming more and more difficult. He wheezed, and pain wracked his chest and arms.

"Don't be sorry. Just live, damn it!"

"Heal… Nathaniel," Hawke urged. "I'm…"

He hated seeing the panicked, pained look on Anders' face. Perhaps a part of him knew this would happen, that he would end up dead again in his lover's arms. Maybe he'd altered the future enough that Anders wouldn't have to live through something like this again. He would never experience the pain of it, of watching Hawke die. And that was enough for him.

"Commander, please."

Hawke smiled. "You are…" He coughed again. "Strong. Shining… example… of magekind… don't… give up," he managed.

"Commander?" A pause as Hawke's vision swam, everything going dark. "Commander!"

"Anders! Anders, he's opening his eyes!"

Hawke was, in fact, wincing against the light of a lantern. His chest ached and he felt like he'd had every bone in his body broken, rearranged, and then put back together improperly. The first thing he realized was that he was no longer surrounded by dead darkspawn. The second was that he was shirtless, but wearing pants. His robes were gone. And the third, when he opened his eyes, was that the face above him was familiar but he couldn't place why.

And then Anders was there, over him, eyes widening in relief. "Hawke," he breathed.

_Hawke_ , he said. Not Commander. And Hawke was too surprised to respond to those warm lips that pressed against his own. Anders pulled back quickly, smoothing his hair, eyes filled with tears.

"Maker, I never thought you'd wake up."

"What happened?" Hawke croaked, and the other man held a cup to his lips. Hawke gulped the water gratefully before sitting up with some effort.

He was in Anders' clinic in Darktown. It was empty except for Anders, Varric who was currently heavily asleep on a cot, and the other man who had grey hair and a full beard and…

"Karl?" Hawke asked.

"Must've been quite a hit to make you nearly forget me," Karl said, smiling broadly

But he had no brand on his forehead. He was speaking normally. He looked… happy. Relieved to see him alive. But how did this happen?

"Here," Anders said, handing him a potion. "That should take care of any residual aches." He sat carefully on the edge of the cot, looking at Hawke, brushing back his hair. "Oh, love. I was so worried. When the dragon got his claw into your chest…" He shook his head. "But you're all right. You've been out three days now."

Three days. Only three days? It had been weeks that he'd been in the Warden-Commander's body. Had it all been some cruel dream? But that wouldn't explain Karl's presence. Hawke had watched Anders drive the knife into his ribs years ago. He tipped the cool elfroot potion back, licking his lips, frowning.

"Justice?" he asked suddenly.

Anders looked surprised. "It's not like you to worry about him. He's fine."

"He…"

"Oh, there he is," Anders said, peering around the privacy screen before turning back to Hawke. "I thought I saw him earlier."

Hawke prepared himself for a lumbering corpse dressed in full metal plate. Or a wispy ghost-like spirit. He saw nothing. Then, a second later, an orange tabby cat leapt up easily onto the cot, dropping a letter from between its jaws onto Hawke's lap. Anders reached out immediately, scratching between his ears. The cat leaned up into the touch.

"What is that?" Anders asked.

The cat – and Hawke recognized Ser Pounce-a-lot's markings – opened its mouth. Eyes glowing blue, it spoke in a deep, reverberating tone.

"A letter for Hawke, left outside the door."

"Funny," Anders said, seemingly nonplussed by the possessed, talking cat that was now edging into his lap, trying to keep Anders' hand in his fur. "Usually they just drop the letters at your estate. I wonder who it's from."

Karl reached out, squeezing Hawke on the shoulder. "I have to return to Selby. Anders, are you-"

"We'll be fine, Karl. Thank you for helping me look after him." Anders smiled warmly, and Karl nodded to both before leaving.

Varric gave a snort and rolled over on his cot.

"He didn't want to leave your side either," Anders said fondly, looking toward Varric. "He only just fell asleep again. I told him I'd wake him when you did…"

"Let him sleep for now," Hawke said, mind reeling.

"I'll brew some tea," Anders said. "Then we should move up to the estate if you're able."

Hawke nodded and returned the kiss this time that Anders pressed to his lips. How he missed this. No candidness, no sneaking around, pretending he didn't love him. Impulsively, he grabbed the back of Anders' head and kissed him desperately, tongue thrusting into his mouth, claiming him. Anders let out a squeak of surprise but returned it, obviously pleased.

"Well," Anders said, breathing heavily once they parted. "If that's the reward I get for saving your life, I think I should do it more often."

"You'll get more than that tonight," Hawke promised.

Anders blushed and left, ducking around the privacy screen. Justice the Cat sat idly on the cot, licking a paw. He looked up to Hawke, eyes flashing.

"You were correct, mortal," he said. "It was not proper to possess a human."

"So you went into Ser Pounce-a-lot instead," Hawke said, slightly unnerved.

"It was a good compromise," Justice replied, before leaping off the cot to follow Anders.

Hawke shook his head and broke the seal on the letter, shaking it out to read.

_Dear Hawke,_

_You know me, but we've never met face to face. I hope this letter finds you well, though if I'm not mistaken, likely recovering from a dragon attack. My name is Daylen Amell. We're cousins through your mother's side, and if you haven't guessed by that information, yes. I am the one they call the Hero of Ferelden._

_More aptly, I am the former Warden-Commander and Arl of Amaranthine. I cannot provide you my current status or whereabouts, though and I'm afraid I also cannot tell you why. What I can do is hope to shed some light on the confusion you're no doubt experiencing. It would seem that the Maker has bigger plans for the both of us, and when you inhabited my body, though I couldn't speak with you, I knew of your thoughts, your memories, and your feelings. After you were gone, my affection for Anders remained, and I held the knowledge of his future – your past – in my hands._

_I spent quite a long time cursing my new gift, but I worked it to my advantage, along with aid from Justice. If things are as they should be, he's with you now and will be able to answer any questions you might have. I gave him information to be doled out in pieces over the years, providing Anders with assistance in his quest to aid the mages of Thedas. Having been subjected to the wrath of the templars myself, made a prisoner of the Chantry, he has my blessing on this journey._

_I trust you with him, and he with you, cousin. I'm expecting great things from the both of you. We will never know why the Maker has given us this gift, this second chance, but I for one will be taking full advantage of it._

_Keep well._

_Sincerely,_

_Daylen Amell_  
Hero of Ferelden  
Former Warden-Commander of the Grey 

Hawke folded the letter, gripping it tightly. For whatever reason, he'd been given a chance, a chance to change his present. To change Anders' destiny. Maybe it was the Maker who brought him back. Maybe it was something else. He would never know.

"Here you go," Anders said, coming back around the screen, Justice curling around his legs.

Hawke took the steaming cup of tea, but pulled Anders in for another kiss.

"Mm," Anders muttered. "You're spoiling me."

"You're worth it," Hawke said.

Anders chuckled. "I… well."

"I love you, Anders."

The smile faded, replaced by a soft expression of adoration. "I love you too, Hawke. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

Hawke sipped his tea. "Mmhm. Never better," he said, looking to Justice, winking.

If cats could scowl, Justice perfected the expression. Hawke reached forward and ruffled his ears. Justice let out an indignant mewl and scurried away. Anders laughed.

"At least you two are being civil to one another. It's a nice change."

Hawke grinned, and pulled him in for another kiss. "Yes," he agreed. "Change is definitely good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are the end! Of course this is dedicated to my lovely girlfriend who gave me the idea and encouraged me through it. I'm only sorry it took me so long to actually go through the prompt (that she gave me back in like... November when I was working on Fire, Smoke, and Magic). SO much fun to write this, Awakening!Anders and explore the difference.
> 
> And Nate. Mm Nate.
> 
> Also replaying Awakening was a blast. Until it glitched and I lost all my clothes >.>
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys. I appreciate all the support and comments <3


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